The Analyst
by r4ven3
Summary: Set a number of weeks after the end of 10.6, Harry is trying to find a decent analyst to replace Ruth. This is a totally AU story, with more than a touch of science fiction. Rather angsty at first.
1. Chapter 1

_**The more H & R fic I write, the more I find myself identifying with Harry. Writing this story almost entirely from Harry's POV was not intentional at the outset, but it just turned out that way. I think this comes from the difficulty I have in understanding a lot of Ruth's behaviour towards him. Thus, I feel sorry for the guy.**_

**oOo**

Harry didn't think he had the will or the energy to face dealing with yet another new analyst. This was to be his third since …... well, since Ruth. None could replace her, so in his mind, none should even try. The very idea that another person would be attempting the job she'd done so brilliantly was nothing short of sacrilegious.

He'd already had two young intelligence analysts try, and both had failed. The first one he'd terrified with his temper, so that she'd left early one day, never to return. The second, even younger than the first, had been so frustratingly incompetent that he'd asked her to never again darken the Grid with her presence. He had immediately forgotten the names of both.

.

A condition of his returning to work had been a weekly session with a psychologist, something he'd begun to dread. He knew that she was reporting their sessions directly to Towers, and so if he was to avoid immediate suspension, he needed to at least make an attempt at co-operating with her.

"Tell me about your difficulties in finding an analyst," Stephanie Symes-Dixon had said at the beginning of the session.

"You make it sound like it's my fault," Harry pouted. "If I was sent someone with even an ounce of natural ability, plus the qualities of persistence, humility, and some genuine intelligence, well …..."

"I take it you've just described Ruth," Symes-Dixon said quietly.

"That barely begins to describe her." Harry could barely breathe. He had not meant to be so transparent.

"So perhaps you could tell me what does."

Fighting a very strong urge to keep his precious memories of Ruth private, Harry sighed, realising he'd been cornered. "Ruth ….. was ….." See, there was the problem right there. For him, Ruth still _is_. There is no _was_. He holds her inside himself, and she lives and breathes with every breath he takes. She wakes when he wakes, rests when he rests, and keeps him warm during the cold mornings. "She's smart, quick, humble, funny …... she gets along with the other members of Section D, and they all look up to her and respect her. She's …..." He could not say any more about her. Not without crying, and he didn't want that. Were he to start, he was afraid he'd never stop.

"Thank you for telling me that, Harry. I know you're holding a lot back, and I know why it is you need to do that."

Harry closed his eyes, hoping to block out her kindness. He didn't want her kindness. He wanted to work. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted a decent analyst to work with. He wanted Ruth back. But not in that order. If he could have Ruth back, none of his other wants would apply.

Stephanie Symes-Dixon had noticed his use of present tense in his describing Ruth. This was common in those who had lost a loved one and were having difficulty in letting them go. For Harry Pearce, his difficulties in finding an analyst who suited his needs was little more than an extension of his own grief and pain. Each analyst who failed at the starting post further brought home to him the permanence which was likely to be Ruth's absence from his life. Soon after the session ended, she phoned through her report to Towers.

"So, how's our patient?" William Towers asked, once Symes-Dixon had identified herself.

"It's heavy going, Home Secretary. He refuses again and again to open up to me, and I doubt he ever will, even if we keep these sessions going for another six months."

"It's only been – what is it – ten weeks?"

"It's almost ten weeks since Ruth died, but only seven weeks since he began coming to me. It feels longer. He's holding in a lot of grief, and guilt also. I have a recommendation, Home Secretary. I hope that you can accommodate this."

"Fire away. I'll see what I can do."

"He's currently focussing on the dilemma he has in getting an appropriately qualified analyst to work in Section D."

"God, aren't we all? The bloody man's traumatised two of our young hopefuls, one of whom has been off on stress leave ever since."

"In Harry's defence, Home Secretary, incompetence among his staff is one of his pet hates. He doesn't tolerate it in himself, and nor will he tolerate it in those who work for him. I see that as a positive, especially given it would be all too easy for him to let his usually high standards slip, now that the woman he loves is gone. I've taken the liberty of interviewing two of his field operatives …... er …. Erin Watts and Alec White. Both have agreed with Sir Harry's assessment of the analysts he was sent to replace Ruth Evershed. My suggestion, for what it's worth, is that the problem is in the word, _young_. Harry Pearce requires someone competent, and that suggests maturity, rather than youth."

"Very well, I'll see what I can do. I seem to have exhausted all the youthful possibilities anyhow, so I'll see what GCHQ can offer me in the line of more mature analysts."

"I'm sensing that Harry simply needs someone whom he can trust. I think that as much as he loved Ruth, it is his trust in her and her decision-making which he most misses in Section D. He worked with Ruth Evershed on and off over a period of almost nine years, and that level of trust will be hard to replace."

"Leave it with me, Steph. I'll do a little digging, see if I can't draw in a few favours."

.

Since Ruth had died, Harry almost never leaves the Grid before midnight. He is aware of the irony in his staying late in his workplace being for the exact opposite reason for him having stayed late in the past. Before Ruth had left working in Section D to work in the Home Office, he had stayed late at work to be near her. He suspected, also, that she stayed late on the Grid in order to remain near him. There had been an intimacy in their working alone – but together – late at night. The emptiness of the space which was the Grid, the blanket of darkness which hovered outside the perimeter of their respective desk lamps, all served to create a focus on their togetherness as a couple. They had always been unofficial as a couple, and yet they each took for granted some of the small acts which marked their exclusivity, the very thing which kept potential suitors – of both sexes – from entering their personal space. For instance, they sat together at meetings and official functions, such as at funerals. When travelling as a group in cars, Harry and Ruth had always travelled in the same car, and almost always sat side by side, as couples do. On that fateful day, the day Ruth had died, Harry had asked her to be with him, and she had agreed without question. It was their closeness – their exclusivity – which had in the end had led to her death.

So, Towers was sending over another analyst, and here in front of him was her file. Harry pondered briefly as to why there was such a surfeit of female analysts. He understood why it was women chose intelligence analysis as a career. For smart women, it was a far safer option than being in the field. Reluctantly, Harry opened the folder which contained the information about his newest analyst. Felicity Sharma …... the name rang a bell, but he could not quite remember why. Some small detail gnawed away at him, but remained elusive. Her photograph showed her to be attractive, her wavy, reddish-blond hair framing her long face, green eyes stared uncompromisingly at the camera. Her date of birth made her older than most of the analysts who had been recommended. She was a few months short of turning 45. And then Harry found the information on her which his memory had been trying to retrieve. How very clever of Towers to have sent this woman Harry's way.

.

Next morning, Felicity Sharma strode on to the Grid only twenty minutes after Harry had arrived. She wore a green cape over black pants and knee-high black boots – Harry thought all she'd need would be a black mask, and she could be a female Batman. Seeing Harry sitting in his office, she made a beeline for his doorway, knocked twice, and then entered.

"Felicity Sharma," she said, holding out her hand for Harry to shake.

Harry stood and met her half-way. "Harry Pearce," he replied, shaking her hand.

"So," Felicity continued, "what should I call you? Sir Harry, Harry …...?"

"My staff all call me Harry. And I'll call you Felicity, if that suits you."

"Thank you. It does."

Like Ruth, this woman spoke in a lower register than most women, her words were carefully enunciated, her eye contact steady. He had no reason to dislike her.

"If it's alright with you," she continued, "I'd like to begin here by taking a look at the encryption systems in use in Section D. That's my area of expertise, so I'd like to see what you use. I take it Calum Reid is the person I need to see about this."

"Yes," Harry replied. "he should be in within the next hour."

With that, Felicity Sharma turned and left Harry's office, and he hadn't even shown her to her computer terminal.

.

The next ten days passed by without Harry feeling anxious, angry or despairing. He missed Ruth as much as ever, but he was relieved that her role was at last being adequately filled by someone with intelligence and competence. At the end of Felicity Sharma's second week in Section D, Harry left his office and crossed the Grid with a bottle of Scotch and two glasses.

"Will you join me for a quick one?" he said as he grabbed the chair from behind Calum's desk, sitting himself across from Felicity. "You've earned this."

Felicity sat back in her chair and stretched, nodding at him. "Don't mind if I do," she replied.

Over their first glass they discussed the mini-dramas of the past two weeks – traces of uranium found under the seats of a Manchester-bound passenger train; a bomb threat called in by four different sources; the sudden death of an asset of Dimitri's; public outcry over the ostracising of a Moslem man by his community. There had been threats and worse, but none had amounted to anything, which had made it a successful two weeks.

Harry hesitated before he again spoke. "So, you're Anthony Sharma's widow," he said, more a statement than a question.

"Yes I am. And you're the man Ruth Evershed left behind." Seeing the shock on Harry's face, she added, "I'm sorry, that was out of order."

"If you were out of order, then so was I," Harry growled. "I had no right to bring up your husband's death in that way. But his death was made very public."

They each concentrated on the amber liquid at the bottom of their respective glasses until the awkwardness dissipated. Felicity chose to speak first.

"Anthony was only three days away from coming home to me," she began. "It was his choice to go out that night. He was a career soldier in charge of a platoon of new recruits. He couldn't have just played it safe. His truck took the brunt of the blast. He and his sergeant were killed instantly. There were eight more of his men in the back who lost limbs, parts of limbs, one man lost an eye. Anthony always told me about how beautiful the Afghan people were, and how kind. It was the Taliban he was after."

"That was eighteen months ago?"

"Yes," she replied, swirling her drink around in the glass to avoid eye contact. "Eighteen months, four days, and ….. er …... around twenty-two hours."

Harry smiled, since he recognised the need to count the weeks, hours and minutes since an event of this magnitude took place. "Does it get any easier?" he asked.

Felicity shook her head. "It never gets easier. But it is easier to accept that it happened. To do otherwise is to invite insanity. Anthony was strong. He'd hate it were I to go to pieces just because he's no longer with me. But there will never be anyone else for me. He was my one real chance at happiness. He was the real deal."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry recognised that she was giving him the space to talk about Ruth, and as much as he'd resisted this, he knew he had to talk about her to someone, otherwise madness lay ahead.

"I was with Ruth when she was stabbed," he said quietly, almost to himself. "I held her as she died. We talked to one another while she took her last breaths. We were planning to leave the service together, and so we discussed our plans. And then she died. The man who killed her meant to stab me. She stood in front of me to protect me." Suddenly Harry could talk no more. Tears spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.

Felicity reached across and put her hand on his arm while his tears flowed unchecked down his face. "I guess this is the real reason I'm here," she said quietly. "How long has it been, Harry?"

He lifted his head and wiped his hand across his eyes. "Twelve weeks, one day and," after looking at his watch, "around nine hours, give or take." He reached into his coat pocket and took a perfectly folded handkerchief, and wiped his eyes and then his cheeks. "And like you," he continued, "there will never be anyone else. She was my heart and soul. And I miss her every moment of every day."

Harry could have shared with Felicity how he sometimes hears her voice talking to him. He'd be ready to leave the Grid for the day, and he'd imagine he could hear his office door roll open, followed by Ruth's voice saying, "Harry, could you take a look at this." Sometimes all he hears is her voice saying his name. He is sure Felicity would understand, but at the same time, such confidences are too personal for sharing with someone he has known for only two weeks.

Felicity bent down to take her wallet out of her bag. Opening her wallet, she removed a photograph and handed it to Harry.

"This is the last photograph we had taken together. It was around eight months before he died, just before he went back to Afghanistan."

Harry took it from her. In it he saw a tall and very handsome Asian man standing beside Felicity, his arm around her shoulders, and both are smiling at the camera. "He was very striking," Harry commented. Sensing a moment where confidences were being shared, he added, "Do you want to see a picture of Ruth?" Felicity nodded.

Harry walked back into his office, and took from the left bottom drawer of his desk his box of photographs of Ruth, many of which had been given to him over the past several weeks by his staff members. He chose his favourite two to show to Felicity. One was of Ruth on her own. He had no idea who had taken the photo, but they'd caught her off guard as she turned from her desk to look right at the camera. The other is of the two of them taken at the office Christmas party two years previously. They are leaning together and smiling at the camera. Their heads are touching, and they look like any normal couple in love.

"She looks lovely, Harry," Felicity commented. "And this one – of you together – well, you can see how happy you are in this. I never met her, although I now wish I had. She left to work here just before I began at GCHQ."

Harry took back the photos and tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. He sensed that the evening's confidences were reaching a natural conclusion.

"Harry," Felicity began, "I do have a favour to ask of you."

"Ask away," he said.

"This is a bit complicated, but I'll try to summarise. In the past six months I've been working on some new encryption. I was doing this on GCHQ's time, with the proviso that when it was ready, all employees at GCHQ would have access to the algorithms, and thus the encryption. This cannot happen until a series of steps have been passed. Until then, the encryption belongs solely to me. Before I left GCHQ two weeks ago, I became suspicious that my encryption is being used by someone else, but I couldn't even begin to run traces using the terminals there. This is one of the reasons I accepted this job. If I could have your permission to run traces using the system here, then I could find out once and for all who is responsible."

"I'm happy for you to do that, so long as it doesn't interfere with your normal work as an analyst."

"Thank you, Harry. I'll make sure that it doesn't."

Harry stood up and took the bottle and the glasses. "Time I went home, I think." He was just about to walk away when he stopped and turned. "Thank you for tonight," he said. "You've no idea how good it felt to talk about Ruth. I'd been …..."

"It was the least I could do."

"Goodnight," he said, as he walked across the Grid to his office.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke suddenly from a dream. Almost all of his dreams are of Ruth, and more often than not, he is searching for her everywhere, but not ever finding her. Mostly he dreams of searching for her in the cottage in Suffolk. He'll have just missed her, her recent presence apparent in a whiff of her perfume, the glowing embers of a fire, the sound of a receding footstep on hardwood floors, or the dregs of tea in a teacup, still warm. He often wakes from these dreams close to tears. This morning the dream was different. He'd searched for her, and found her in a flat in Paris. He'd climbed the narrow stairs and knocked on her door, but the door had opened under his touch. He'd stepped inside the flat, a tiny bedsit, finding her asleep on the bed. He tiptoed to the bed and sat down beside her, not wanting to wake her. He leaned over her, about to kiss her, when she turned and smiled at him. She reached out with her hand, and was about to touch his face ….. and that's when he awoke.

Not only had he awoken at the very wrong moment, but he'd awoken aroused, something which since Ruth's death had happened only very rarely. He thought briefly of doing something about it. It would only take a few strokes to bring him to satisfaction, except that it wouldn't be any kind of real satisfaction at all. At least while she'd still been alive, he could have imagined her being with him, but her being dead leaves him feeling empty of all genuine feeling other than pain. Even an orgasm can be one of pain. Harry got out of bed and headed to the shower.

.

Stephanie Symes-Dixon noted her client looked less tense, less wary, and more settled than she's ever seen him.

"The analyst problem seems to have been solved," he offered up, right at the beginning of the session. "I have a mature and experienced analyst, but only on secondment from GCHQ. I'd like her appointment to become permanent, but that will be up to her and GCHQ."

"I'm pleased for you, Harry. Does this woman's working at Section D …... how shall I say this ….. does it make the loss of Ruth any less severe?"

Harry contemplated ignoring the question. Had she asked the question a week earlier, he would have, but this week he felt differently about it. He hesitated before answering, deciding at the last moment to try an honest approach. "No, the loss of Ruth – from my own life, and from the security services – is something which leaves a gaping chasm which can never be filled. Felicity Sharma – the new analyst – is excellent at her job, but she's not and never can be Ruth. They are two entirely different personalities."

"How is that? Describe this if you can."

"Felicity is bold and confident. She demands, no - _commands_ respect. Ruth, on the other hand, is gentle and caring. She always earns respect from others, but never demands it. That's why she and I get on so well. We're opposites, Ruth and I."

"Harry …... are you aware of using the present tense when you speak of Ruth?"

For the first time in over two weeks, Harry turned on her with flaring eyes. Stephanie could see the pain in those eyes, a pain he was trying so hard to keep in check.

"She's still with me. She's always with me," Harry said at last. "She's not in some …... hole in the ground."

"It might surprise you to know that most of those who lose a loved one have said to me almost word for word what you just said. I'm not judging you, Harry. I was drawing your awareness to your habit of describing Ruth in the present, as though she's still here."

"That's because to me she still is here." He waited a while before adding, "It's the only way I know how to cope with losing her."

"And for feeling responsible for her death?"

Harry nodded his reply.

.

By the time Harry made it back to the Grid, everyone other than the new analyst had already gone home. His sessions with the psychologist always left him drained. Her recommendation to him was that he not use alcohol after a session as a way of staunching his pain. He was about to give this a try. After all, the alcohol always made him feel worse, especially in the morning. He sat at his desk and began to wade through the pile of reports and recommendations in his in-tray.

It had been over two weeks since he and Felicity had bonded over a whiskey after work, and he thought of again offering her a drink at the end of a hard day, when he noticed her heading towards his office. She knocked – two sharp raps – before entering, closing the door behind her.

"Harry," she began, not waiting for him to offer her a seat, "something has come up."

"Won't you sit down, Felicity," he said, pointing to the chair opposite him.

"Thank you," she said. "This is …... somewhat awkward. I don't know where to begin. Perhaps …... "

"Perhaps if you start at the beginning," Harry suggested. "I've found that's best."

Felicity seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable, rubbing the end of her nose with the heel of her hand. "I've found my encryption thief ….. or, more correctly, I've managed to uncover some of the documents which have been encrypted by this thief. I'm still no closer to discovering who is responsible for these documents."

"Do you need me to know this?" Harry asked.

"Normally, no, but …... there are …... extenuating circumstances, and I think you need to be informed of …. some of what these documents reveal."

"Before you go on, does this affect anyone else on the Grid?"

"Yes, but not nearly as much as it affects you."

"Are these documents incriminating in any way?" he asked.

"Ye-es, but not in the way you mean."

"Jesus, Felicity, could you be any more obscure?"

"Sorry. By incriminating, I imagine you mean do these documents show this section up in a bad light. The answer to that is no. Something, or more correctly, _someone_ is guilty of _something_. That is clear." She noticed the look of frustrated bewilderment on Harry's face. "I can see I'm not making this any clearer, am I?"

Harry shook his head. "Is this about a threat of some kind?"

Felicity took a breath before she continued. "There is no easy way of saying this, so I'll just come out and …..."

"Say it, please," Harry implored.

"The series of documents which were encrypted using my new encryption – by whom I don't know – seem to be a series of case notes from a hospital, or a medical facility of some kind. The ones I have already decoded are dated from 5 months ago until 6 weeks ago. I have checked the names of the patients with our own records. All of the names are of people who have died during the past 5 months. One of these names is ….."

"Ruth's."

"Yes," Felicity replied very quietly. "All of these `dead' people seem to be alive. They are all being treated with some kind of new drug. Genesis 1197. I suspect it's still in development, which is why this research is being conducted covertly."

Harry looked like he'd been king hit. "So, she's been alive all this time?" he said, barely above a whisper.

"It appears so."

"Where is this …... facility?"

"Ah," Felicity answered, "that's where I still have some work to do, I'm afraid. I have only decoded my own encryption. I'll require some extra help with the rest of it. All names of medical staff, plus the locations – the addresses of the patients, the medical facility, research teams, etc – is encoded using a different set of criteria. I need help with this. I believe you know Malcolm Wynn-Jones."

"Yes, yes, of course. Malcolm used to work here, up until two and a half years ago. Do you want to meet him?"

"My suggestion is that you reinstate him, perhaps for a finite period, such as 6 months. He's the best there is."

"Of course," Harry replied. "I'll get on to it tonight. And, Felicity …."

"Yes, Harry -"

"Thank you for telling me. I'm still quite -"

"Shell-shocked?"

"Yes. I also know enough about these things to not be too – er – optimistic at this stage. As much as I'm over the moon Ruth's alive, I also know how careless these rogue research teams can be. It's all about the money and the glory. We have to act fast if we're to save her and the others. Speaking of others, how many are there in this …... research project?"

"I have records for 8 people from the past 5 months," Felicity said. "There are no doubt more, but I stopped my further searching when Ruth's name appeared."

"So, how long have you known about this?" Harry asked, standing and walking around his desk, more to work off the adrenalin.

"Ruth's name appeared in my search around a week ago. I only put the puzzle together this afternoon, and I've been waiting until we were the only ones left on the Grid before I told you."

"Thank you." Harry stopped his pacing, and turned to face Felicity. "Thank you for waiting until the others had left. They have no need to know about this yet. There's quite a bit needs doing before we need to bring them into it."

"Which brings me to my next request, Harry."

"Anything," he replied.

"My brother, Jeremy Coates, is a medical researcher. I'd like to bring him into this, and show him what I've decoded so far. He may have some input which could be useful. And there's also Anthony's brother, Rohan, who's an international lawyer. He may have some advice about the legal implications of this."

"Firstly, the rogue researchers are no doubt operating outside the law of several countries, so we may have to ignore the laws of the land for the time being. Have these two men sign the Official Secrets Act."

"They both have. I've had to consult them both before, so they're not novices. If I could have tomorrow off the Grid, I'd appreciate that."

"Of course. Do whatever you have to do. I'm going home now, and I suggest you do too. Keep me informed of your progress."

.

Driving home, Harry was aware of a euphoria trying to surface between the heavy layer of fear and doubts which Felicity's news had planted in his conscious mind. The next few days and weeks would be critical in uncovering the mystery surrounding Ruth's death and continued life. At home, Harry ate a toasted sandwich, and drank a cup of tea, all the time trying hard not to project himself into a future in which Ruth is still alive, and still part of his life. In his ensuite bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror and critically examined his face. If he was to see Ruth again, and if he was to tempt her back into his life, then he had to look after himself better than he had been. The bags under his eyes and the increased puffiness in his face bore testament to the excesses he had allowed to encroach into his daily routine – too much alcohol, irregular meals, poor diet, and not enough exercise. Scarlett's death, only two weeks after Ruth had died, had hurt almost as much as the loss of Ruth. Not only had be missed walking her daily, but his body had missed the exercise.

So, for the first time in fourteen weeks, Harry got into bed and slept dreamlessly, and without the aid of alcohol to dull his emotions. For the first time since he'd lost Ruth, a tiny glimmer of hope lay in front of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Felicity spent the next seven days working off-Grid. Harry knew from the phone calls he received from her at all hours of the day and night that she was working all the hours she could, and only stopping to sleep when exhaustion forced her to. He was astute enough to see that she imagined that in `saving' Ruth and the others, she was somehow also saving Anthony. The loss of a loved one did strange things to people. It brought up more than just questions of what is life, what is death, and why not me? It brought one to the very brink of existence, so that standing at the very boundary between life and death and gazing into the abyss was welcomed when despair threatened to overwhelm. Harry was aware that Felicity needed a purpose, and she needed to keep busy. Malcolm had enthusiastically jumped on board, eager for a new project to occupy himself since he'd had found it necessary to put his mother in a nursing home.

Part way through the second week after Felicity had shared her findings with Harry, she and Malcolm visited the Grid, smiles on their faces. It was late afternoon, and Alec White was the only field operative still on the Grid. Both Erin and Dimitri were out on assignment, Calum, citing nausea, had gone home early, and the remaining clerical staff were packing up in preparation for leaving for the day.

"Meeting room, I think," said Harry, after he shook hands with Malcolm. "I think Alec should join us. What do you think, Felicity?"

"I'm happy with that."

So, Harry and Alec sat on opposite sides of the table in the meeting room, while Felicity and Malcolm set up the laptop she'd been using over the past ten days.

"Before I begin," Felicity said, "I need to emphasise that time is critical, and the sooner we act on this the better chance there is for an outcome which satisfies."

"Whoa, whoa," said Alec. "What is this about? Are you going to tell me?"

"You'll get the picture as we go along, Alec," Malcolm said. "As Felicity mentioned, time is of the essence, as there are precious lives at stake here."

"When isn't there?" Alec commented, his frustration barely in check.

"Alec," Harry interrupted. "Just drop it, OK? Let them speak. All will become clear in due course."

"Fine," Alec said, slipping down into his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"So," began Felicity. "the clinics being used are just outside Oxford, and another on the outskirts of Bristol. Both clinics have been used by the military, but are now privately owned. The research, as far as we can gather, is being funded by a consortium of investors, both in the UK, as well as France and the Middle East. There are a number of staff members of Indian heritage, but that may just be a statistical anomaly, rather than a connection to India itself. The only clear connection we have found between the security services and the research project is a series of permission forms, which have been signed by ….." Felicity clicked a new page, and magnified on the screen above the table was a form, signed by no other than -

"Towers!" Harry said, his voice incredulous.

"Except that's not his signature," Malcolm added. "William Towers always signs his name as _Wm Towers_. That signature, while it looks almost exactly like his, omits the `m'."

"Is that dumb oversight, or do you think it's deliberate?" Harry asked.

"It's hard to say," replied Malcolm. "Closer examination of the signature shows it to be an almost exact copy, so I'm not sure why they'd leave out something as important as the `m'."

"So, who is the _real_ security services connection then?" asked Harry.

"The only one I can think who would be capable of this," said Felicity, "is Paul Middlemass, and he was decommissioned over a year ago."

"Middlemass has a medical degree as well as a law degree," added Malcolm. "But we have nothing to connect him directly to this. Having said that, anyone who had engineered this little plot would want to keep themselves and their name at a distance, but their bank account close by."

"Next," said Felicity, moving on, "is the pharmaceutical side of this. Because this is what it's all about, and the reason they've used security personnel as their guinea pigs may just be accidental, although I find that hard to believe. There are two drugs being trialled, neither of which could be trialled openly by the big pharmaceutical companies, thus this covert operation. Genesis 1197 restarts the body's metabolic processes, provided it is administered within an hour of the heart having stopped, and the earlier the better. It is injected directly into the heart in the first instance, and thereafter it is injected into the bloodstream. Depending on the condition of the patient, it may need to be administered for anything from three weeks to six months. My brother, Jeremy, is a medical researcher, and he says that Genesis 1197 has been talked about for over a decade, but most researchers believed it to be an urban myth. Apparently not so. There are nine security personnel on which Genesis 1197 is being trialled. All met their deaths during the past 6 months, and all had minimal body trauma."

"Wait." interrupted Alec, sitting up straight in his chair. "Ruth? Is this what this is about?"

The was a deafening silence in the room as they all waited for someone to answer Alec.

"Yes," Harry said at last. "Ruth is alive and has been treated with the Genesis drug."

"Jesus, Harry," Alec continued. "How can you just sit there? Why aren't you in your car right now, on your way to rescuing her?"

"Because," interrupted Malcolm, always the voice of reason, "how and when that is done is to be part of a very delicate operation. Chances are the person to sweep in and rescue Ruth and the others will have to be you or Dimitri, or even Erin. Harry is too close to this, too emotionally involved. Besides, there is a slight complication in this research project. The chief drug on trial is the Genesis drug. It can never see the light of day."

"Why ever not?" Alec almost shouted, his frustration evident. "Whoever owns it stands to make a fortune."

"Perhaps, but it's complicated also," continued Malcolm. "Who gets it and who doesn't is a task too hard. Should it be confined to the military, to ensure we always have people available to fight? Should it be for those who can afford it, such as the very wealthy? What do we do when the population of the earth outstrips food supplies? It's an ethical minefield. Besides, there's another drug on trial, and this is where things get complicated. Felicity?"

"The second drug is called Forseti 12, after the Norse God of truth and peace. Except this drug is used to change a person's _perception_ of the truth, so it's more of a liar's drug than a truth drug. It's used to induce states of hypnosis, during which the patient's sense of what is true can be altered. The positive thing about this is that it appears to be short acting, and so needs to be administered, if not daily, then every other day. The research notes indicate that the patients used have needed it every day."

"Why are they using that drug?" Alec asked. "The truth drug, or the lying drug? Why use that?"

"To control them," Felicity said. "The patients to whom they have successfully administered Genesis 1197 are all free to come and go as they please. Many have jobs. Ruth is working in the archive section of the Bristol Central Library. She got the job under her own steam, and three days a week she goes to work, and back to the medical facility without being watched or followed. That's part of the way they test the effectiveness of the treatment. Do you think she'd be doing that if she knew Harry was here waiting for her? That her life here is waiting for her?"

"So," mused Alec, "they've lied to her about us, about Harry."

"Most likely," replied Felicity. "It would be easy to change her perception of the truth. Were she to have asked after us, or more specifically after Harry, it's likely they told her that he's moved on, that he's found someone else, that he's married, that someone else is doing her job at the Home Office. You get the picture. If you're reminded every day of how you've been replaced, then that works far better as a control mechanism than minders and locks on doors."

"Jesus," breathed Alec. "That's so evil. But it's brilliant, also. I still don't see why you don't just sweep in and bring her home, Harry."

"Alec," replied Harry, "as much as I really want to do that, because more than anything right now I want to see her, were she to struggle, or in any way resist coming with me, that could create a disturbance, police could be called, and it could become a disaster, rather than a happy reunion. I want this to work, so I'm prepared to be patient. And there are eight other patients in this trial. Their loved ones have been grieving also, and they'll be relying on us to get each of them back in one piece."

"Which is where the rescue operation comes into play," added Malcolm. "Most of Section D will be involved in this, so a coordinated approach is required."

"When are we planning on swooping in, then?" asked Alec.

"Two days from now," replied Malcolm. "It will have to happen in Ruth's lunch hour, because she's our first priority. CO19 will be on standby. Technically, these people are being held hostage. It's a chemical kidnapping, rather than physical, but it's still a hostage situation. The fact that this research team has been able to give these people another chance at life should not excuse them from the darker sides of their intent. They are not doing Ruth and the others any favours. They are using them in order to make money. It's that simple."

.

Two days later, Harry was ensconced in an upstairs bedroom in a small country hotel east of Bristol. This particular hotel had been chosen due to its owner being a former military associate of Harry's, and so likely to remain discreet. Harry lay on his back on the broad expanse of the bed, wondering what lay ahead for he and Ruth. In some ways, it could not be any worse than what they'd already endured – their on again, off again relationship, their continued enforced celibacy, her sudden death just as he'd agreed to leave the service to be with her. The last eight or so months had brought all kinds of hell for Harry. He was excited at the prospect of seeing her again, but Felicity had also warned him that Ruth would most likely be changed by her experiences, and so he should not hold his hopes too high. He had been warned that there was even a possibility that she would no longer have feelings for him. The effects of the drugs which had been used on her were largely unknown.

Suddenly his phone rang, it's ringtone seeming louder and more insistent than usual. "Yes," he said, despite almost holding his breath.

"It's done, Harry," Dimitri's voice came through the earpiece. "One of the patients was shot and killed during the takeover of the facility at Oxford, but now both facilities are under CO19 guard until the security services do a thorough investigation. All other patients – all eight of them – are safe."

"And Ruth?"

"Look outside your window."

He did. Dimitri's car had just pulled up, and he was helping a small figure in blue jeans and pale blue jumper out of the passenger side seat. Suddenly she looked up, and seeing him standing at the window, she smiled and waved. Without thinking, he waved back. Her hair was a little longer, but she looked the same as she had last time he'd seen her.

Suddenly Harry was nervous. He'd brought with him to this hotel her pillow, some of her clothes, including pyjamas and a dressing gown, underwear, and a few of her books. And her perfume, because it is her perfume which he associates with her, the scent left in a room after she has left it.

There was a gentle knocking at his hotel room door. "Coming," he called out. He opened the door, and there she was. It had been fifteen and a half weeks since she'd died in his arms, and all he wanted to do was to put his arms around her again, to hold her close so that no-one on earth could again take her from him.

"Come in," he said, standing back to let both she and Dimitri into the room.

"I'll just stay out here for now, Harry," Dimitri said, embarrassment clear on his face. "I don't want to – you know – get in your way."

"Thank you, Dimitri. Get yourself a coffee or a drink from the bar. You've earned it."

Harry closed the door, and turned to see that Ruth had made her way into the room, and was going through her books. "Harry, you know me so well," she said, turning to him and smiling, the Ovid in her hands.

"I'm glad you like what I chose," he said. I brought some of your clothes, too. And your pillow," he said, pointing to the bed. He stood awkwardly just inside the closed door, wanting to hold her, but not wanting to frighten her away.

"They told me you'd moved on," she said, her voice and her face suddenly serious.

"No, Ruth, I haven't moved on. I'm still -"

"So why are you standing all the way over there?"

He stood facing her, not moving, too afraid to move, while she walked towards him, never taking her eyes from his. When she'd almost reached him, she stopped, a question in her eyes. He stepped the distance to her and suddenly grabbed her, holding her against him, while he buried his face in her hair. He felt a sob emerge from deep within him, but he suppressed it. This was a moment for joy, not pain. They had endured enough pain. He heard Ruth laughing, her face against his chest, so he pulled her closer. "I've missed you so much," was all he managed to say.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you to all who have read this so far, and especially to those who have reviewed. I am interested in the responses to this fic because I am writing it as a bit of self-indulgence. I have had this story floating around me for the 3 months I've been visiting this site. I just wanted to put it out there and see if it worked. It looks like being 10-12 chapters in length.**_

**oOo**

They talked all afternoon, and well into the evening. These two people, both of whom had once had so much difficulty in opening up to one another, now more than made up for their previous reticence. A meal was delivered to the room at 6 o'clock, and Dimitri brought it into them and placed the tray on the table by the window. He noticed how they were sitting, their chairs pulled close together, their linked hands resting on Harry's knee. Dimitri envied them their easy and comfortable way with one another. He knew they'd struggled to find their way to one another, but he had always seen them as comfortable in one another's presence, like they had been born to be together.

"Are you two alright now?" Dimitri asked. "It's just that there are still some things which need my attention back at the facility. Do you want me to bring any of your things from there, Ruth?"

She thought for a while before answering. "Yes, I have a sponge bag in the bathroom – the bathroom off Room 22. It's green and red and white striped, and it has all my personal hygiene things in it." She would also have liked her underwear, but had no idea how to delicately articulate this in front of these two men, and she wasn't especially happy about the prospect of sending Dimitri in to search for her smalls. He might be a spy, but she was sure he would rather rescue a rabid dog than her underwear.

"Consider it done," Dimitri said. "You'll be alright then, Harry?"

"Yes, I think we're alright now, aren't we?" he said, looking at Ruth, who nodded. "I don't know about you, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

Ruth replied by touching his cheek with her finger. "Me neither," she added.

Over dinner, Harry suggested to Ruth that he was prepared to sleep in the single bed in the adjoining room of the suite they were in, so that she could sleep alone in the large bed.

"No, Harry, I don't want that," she replied. "We've spent so long apart, I don't wish to sleep anywhere but in the same bed as you from now on."

"I want that also, but isn't it too soon?"

"Harry, you took me out to dinner – when was it – over five years ago now, and I've spent the intervening years either being dead to you, or procrastinating. I don't want to do that any more. I just want to be close to you. The therapist in the medical centre told me on more than one occasion that you'd fallen in love with your new analyst. Felicity something? They told me you were planning to marry her. They even showed me a photo of her. She's quite beautiful."

"Felicity Sharma is my new analyst, she is beautiful, granted, but she's widowed, and like me, her heart is still owned by her late partner. The closest we ever came to one another was one night when we each confessed to the other our undying love for our respective dead loved ones."

"That's good to hear. Not that she's a widow, but that you're not in love with her."

"Never was, and never will be, but I do like her. She's a force of nature."

"It shook me up quite a lot when they told me you'd fallen for her. I was determined that if by some miracle I ever got to meet you again, I wouldn't hold back my feelings."

"Ruth, pardon my bluntness, but you seem so much more …... sure of yourself than you were previously. You don't hold back at all."

"That's part of the new me, Harry. Not many people get a chance to begin again from scratch."

"I also need to confess something else to you, Ruth. I didn't buy your cottage in Suffolk. I had a look at it around a week after you'd died, but I couldn't bear to be in it. It felt empty of you, but full of the dreams we had for living there together, and it would have been too -"

"Harry, there's no need for you to explain your decision to me. I wasn't here to help you make that decision, so I can't complain, can I?"

Harry nodded his reply. "So long as you understand why I didn't buy it," he added.

"Of course I do."

Harry was surprised and even shocked by the changes in Ruth. He had expected her to be different, but not in this way. He also knew that there were likely to be difficult times ahead. He wanted to have a sex life with Ruth, but not right now. It was too soon, and they had a need to reacquaint themselves with one another. He believed it to be important that they began their new relationship based on who they were, rather than who they remembered themselves to be. There were bound to be disagreements over where they should live, how they should support themselves, and whose responsibility it was to do what. He had been married, and so he knew that it would very likely be the little things which could potentially drive a wedge between them. Then there was Ruth's ongoing health. He had no idea whether there would be long-term complications as a result of her treatments. But neither did she. Chances are, they were both sitting on a time bomb. Or not.

They soon exhausted themselves with their talking, and so by 10 o'clock they were ready for bed. Harry accepted Ruth's invitation to sleep with her in the big bed. She was already tucked up on her side, her head on her own pillow, the one Harry had kept with him since she'd died, when he slid under the duvet, trying as hard as he could to not touch her. He turned towards her, aware of the warmth of her body under the duvet.

"You can touch me if you like, Harry," she said without turning to face him.

"I'd like to hold you if that's alright," he replied.

"It's more than alright," she replied, waiting for him to put his arms around her.

Harry slid closer to her, and put his arm around her, grasping her top hand and tucking their hands around her waist. Despite him wanting to keep his body away from hers, he felt her slide her buttocks back until they nestled into him. He groaned slightly, feeling the beginnings of a response from his body.

"Ruth," he said softly to her back, "it's been a long time for me, and I may get – er – hard, with you lying against me like this."

"God, sorry," she said, turning to face him. "I hadn't even thought of that. I don't want to upset you."

"I'm not upset, Ruth, just mildly aroused. I can handle it. Just don't squirm against me, that's all. I want to make love to you, but not yet. We have a lot of talking to do first."

Ruth rolled back on to her side with her back to him so that Harry could curve his body around hers, their hands linked around her waist. In this comfortable and natural state, they fell asleep quickly and deeply.

.

When Harry awoke it was barely light, and he was alone in the bed. He was not immediately concerned, as he checked the other room and the bathroom and toilet, all to no avail. He opened the door to the corridor, looking up and down, and still no Ruth. Not wanting to panic, but feeling his heart pumping hard and fast against his ribs, he quickly dressed and went downstairs. He checked the dining room and the bar, but no-one was about. Finding the front door unlocked, he ventured outside and walked down the driveway. He found her standing at the main entrance to the hotel, gazing eastwards.

"Ruth, what are you doing?"

"Harry. Come and join me. I'm watching the sunrise. Isn't it beautiful?" Her face showed wonder at this most everyday of events.

Harry stepped up to her and put his arms around her from behind, so that she leaned against him, her head resting against his shoulder. "How long is it since you've seen the sun rise?" he asked her, his mouth close to her ear.

"Months, maybe longer," she said. "We were …. discouraged from leaving the medical centre at night, so I spent each evening in my room. By the time I left the facility each day, the sun was up. This is the best time of the day, wouldn't you say?"

Harry reached around and kissed her cheek. "Especially now."

"Yes, especially now," she agreed.

"Ruth," Harry began, "you know that you're not yet out of danger. We still don't know who's behind this whole research project, and until we have them all in custody, your life may be in danger. You carry with you a lot of information which could incriminate the people responsible for this."

"I know, Harry. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see a sunrise."

"That's fine, Ruth. Wake me next time, and I'll come with you. I'm here to keep you safe, although I haven't always been able -", and then he stopped.

"Harry," Ruth said, turning in his arms, her face close to his, "you were not responsible for me being stabbed. You couldn't have stopped me from standing in front of you. That wasn't your fault." She reached up to put her lips on his. It was their first kiss since he'd kissed her cold lips on the day she'd died. It was gentle and soft, and very, very sweet. They each leaned into the other, willing the kiss to last longer.

The loud honking of a car horn and an accompanying shrill whistle from a car as it sped past the hotel caused them to jump apart. "This is hardly an ideal place for a private kiss," Harry commented, drawing her into his arms.

.

After they breakfasted in the dining room, they went back to their room. While Ruth was soaking in the bath, Harry's mobile phone rang. He picked it up and answered.

"Harry," said a fluid male voice, "I was intending giving you your notice, since you've missed the last two sessions with your psychologist, but your analyst also tells me you're some kind of hero, and that I should give you a medal, or some such rubbish."

"Home Secretary, how good of you to ring. What I have to tell you should not be spoken of on my own personal mobile, so if you'll hang up, I'll ring your private line with a safe phone. OK?"

"Very well."

Harry retrieved one of the pay-as-you-go phones that Erin had given him before he left London, and he rang back the Home Secretary on his private office line.

"Harry, tell me what you've done, so I can decide whether to have you knighted all over again, or put you in the Tower and throw away the key."

"I can't explain any of it on the phone, Home Secretary. It's somewhat …... bizarre. You'll have to come to Bristol. This is the address." And before Harry hung up, he gave the Home Secretary the address of the hotel, and to ask for Mr and Mrs Eamonn Price. He was aware that there was a slight possibility that the Home Secretary's journey to Bristol may attract the wrong kind of attention, but Harry also needed the Home Secretary on side, and to do that, he needed him in his own territory.

Harry then rang Felicity on another safe phone, and asked her to deliver in person to the Home Secretary her findings on the research team based in Bristol and Oxford. "It's important he gets it today, Felicity. I've asked him to come to Bristol. Ruth worked for him at the time she was stabbed. She's almost as important to him as she is to me – but not quite."

"And how is the lady in question?"

"She's – she's great."

"You hesitated. Is something wrong?"

"No, on the contrary. Nothing's wrong. Everything's wonderful. I guess I don't believe in miracles, even when I witness them."

"I understand that. Tomorrow you can expect a couple of security services doctors to want to take a look at Ruth."

"As long as they examine her here, in our room at the hotel, they're welcome."

"I'll see what I can do."

.

Ruth entered the bedroom still in her bathrobe, her hair wet, a towel in her hand. "Would you like to dry my hair for me, Harry?"

"Sure," he said, pleased that she was trusting him with such an intimate and personal activity. "Sit down over here by the window, and I'll stand behind you."

Harry stood behind her and gently rubbed the towel through her hair. He could feel his self-control slowly slipping as his hips touched her shoulders, and she murmured her appreciation of what he was doing. There was a very strong part of him was ready to say to hell with waiting, and to slip the robe from her shoulders and carry her to the bed. He needed a shower, a cold one, and fast. He dropped the towel on the table, mumbled something about needing a shower, and walked straight to the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

_**You may have to suspend your belief a bit with some of the medical details in this chapter. It's not intended that it make complete sense. (In my defence, a Spooks plot never made a lot of sense at the best of times...)**_

**oOo**

They again had their lunch delivered to their room, and so they ate it at the table under the window.

"Harry, why did you run away before?"

"Run away? When I went for a shower?"

"Yes, you had all morning to have a shower. You seemed …... upset."

Harry was again surprised by Ruth's forthright approach. The `old' Ruth would have assumed something – the worst, probably – and then acted on her assumptions. This `new' Ruth was refreshing, but also confronting. "I wasn't upset, Ruth. The truth is that I was beginning to experience …... arousal. I had to put some distance between us for a while."

"Harry, I quite like it that you're becoming aroused around me. I'm not used to that, and I'm certainly not offended by it."

"That's good to hear, at least, but the truth is it's not easy for me to deal with. I don't wish to act …... badly around you. I'd rather be in control of my body."

"I understand your not wanting to make love until we're ready. I agree with that. But if you're getting …. aroused, I could help you out. You know -"

Harry was temporarily shocked by what she was suggesting, so much so that he stared at her for longer than he meant to. "Do you mean a - ?"

Ruth looked up at him and smiled, lifting her hands and displaying them in front of him. "I have these for a reason, you know."

Harry could feel his jaw drop open, as he stared at her. "Jesus, Ruth, I'm not an invalid," was all he managed to say.

She put her hands back on the table. "Harry, I'm a little shocked. I read your file – years ago, when I first became ….. interested in you. Celibacy is hardly your natural state. I don't expect you to continue to hold back."

"There hasn't been anyone since …... you. What I mean is, since I fell in love with you I haven't been with a woman. I had a couple of near misses when you were in Cyprus, but my heart just wasn't in it."

"Harry, are you saying that you've been ….. celibate for …... how long?"

"A long time. Around six years."

"We can't let that continue. It's no surprise you're aroused all the time."

"Not all the time, just …... most of the time."

"Why don't we, you know, imagine we're fifteen again, and we just do everything but the full sex. It might be fun."

Harry stared at her. His hesitant, wary, gun-shy Ruth had just suggested they do everything but the penetration part. He reached a hand across to hers, smiled and nodded. What could be the harm?

.

When the two doctors and a nurse arrived, Harry was sent packing.

"We'll call you in after we've conducted a full examination of Ms Evershed," said the female doctor, while the male doctor and the nurse busily and efficiently set up a makeshift examination bay.

Harry went looking for Geoff, the owner, and found him in his office watching the TV news.

"Come and join me," called Geoff through the doorway, beckoning Harry inside. "Your lot have caused quite a stink, it seems," he said, pointing at the TV screen. "Have the security services really uncovered a laboratory for making a genetic weapon?"

"Not exactly," Harry replied, sitting on the sofa just inside the door. "You know how it is. Someone plants a lie, and we rely on the media to perpetuate it."

"There's something going on, though. You wouldn't he hiding out here were things normal."

"No, you're right, but I'm not about to say more. All I can say is that someone messed up. This time they chose the wrong people to mess with."

"The woman you're with – Ruth – she seems lovely. Not your usual type, though."

"She is lovely, and yes, she's not my usual type, which is what makes her special." If Geoff wanted more information about Ruth, he was not about to get it. Harry briefly wondered how Geoff would react were he to tell him that a little over 3 months ago, he had held Ruth while she died, and that he'd been mourning her loss ever since. On the other hand, there was no requirement that Geoff know any more than the basic information he already had.

After a long silence, Harry continued. "There'll be a government visitor turning up some time in the next 24 hours. It's the Home Secretary. Keep it quiet, won't you, Geoff?"

"My lips are sealed," replied Geoff, removing his glasses, and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. "Perhaps you need to retire, Harry. It's not such a bad life. I've never been more content. I actually get to see my wife every day, and other than the occasional belligerent drunk, she no longer fears for my life."

"I'm giving it some serious thought," Harry replied.

.

Back in their hotel room, Harry and Ruth sat side by side on the bed while the chief medical officer gave an overview of Ruth's examination.

"All things considered, Ruth shows few signs of her ordeal. All her vitals are normal, and we'll fax through the results of the blood tests to the Home Secretary. We've asked you to sit in on this as Ruth's – er - consort, Sir Harry." Harry was temporarily taken aback. Who in the twenty-first century still uses a term like `consort'? Did this doctor imagine that because he had a `Sir' in front of his name that he had to resort to Regency speech in his presence? The CMO continued. "We know little about the long term effects of having Genesis 1197 administered. The fact that you were only given very small doses over the first month is a good thing. Earlier trials with the drug – completely illegal, of course - showed that higher doses worked, but did not result in long term survival of the patient. Your doses were high enough to be effective, but not so high that the body's systems were put under stress. There is one possible negative outcome, however, and you both need to know about this. Due to the possible effects of Genesis 1197 on mitochondrial DNA, it is recommended that you not have children. The possibility for DNA anomalies is high, and this will be passed on to the next generation. What you also need to know is that the next generation inherit their mitochondrial DNA from the mother, and not from the father. We are passing on this advice to all the women of childbearing ago who received Genesis 1197. The men will not be similarly affected. I am sorry to have to tell you this."

Harry looked across at Ruth, and took her hand. He was simply happy to have her in his life again. He hadn't given any thought to the next generation.

"For this reason," the doctor continued, "we would suggest that you continue to use contraception whenever you have sex for the remainder of your fertile years. If, for any reason, you become pregnant, Ruth, you will need to decide on either an abortion, or undergoing extensive DNA testing of the foetus should you wish the pregnancy to continue." He looked at Harry as he spoke. "We've fitted Ruth with a coil, so there should be no problems with an unwanted pregnancy."

The doctor hesitated before he continued. "There is one more thing. This isn't a medical thing as such, but nor is your medical profile something which stands alone. Ruth, you should consider taking legal action, and holding the security services accountable for allowing this situation to even happen."

Ruth began shaking her head, her eyes on the doctor.

Harry spoke for them both. "The Home Secretary is visiting us either tonight or tomorrow. I intend taking the issue of compensation up with him. I have some arguments which I feel will – er – persuade him to make some funds available to the eight survivors of this debacle."

"Good. Let me know how you get on," the doctor continued, "and if you require any medical backup, then I'll be happy to provide it. We still have another three people to see, so we'd better get on."

"How are those you've already seen?" asked Ruth.

"Everyone we've seen is in good health and good spirits. You can expect to hear from us every 3 months for the next 2 years. It's not every day people come back from the dead."

.

"I'm sorry about your prospects for having children, Ruth," Harry said quietly after the medical team had left. "I'd been prepared to have children with you had that been your wish, but this news removes the luxury of choice."

"I've always been somewhat ambivalent about children, Harry. I quite liked the idea of having a child or two with you, but sadly, that's not to be." She looked up at him, and he touched her cheek, his face showing genuine sadness and regret.

"You know, Harry," Ruth, looking down at her hands, "they asked me about the time I was dead, and my awareness of it once I woke up. I can understand the question, but the first time I woke up was when I was in the helicopter on our way to the hospital."

"What?" exclaimed Harry. "That soon? How come none of us knew about that?"

"I was told afterwards that I had to be taken to a special unit in the hospital, and that I couldn't be seen by you or anyone else I knew. They took me to Bristol, and put me in an induced coma for a few days. I realise now that the team in the helicopter were all part of the Genesis research team. Apart maybe for the pilot, although he may have been also or worked with. They said there was too high a risk if infection, which didn't make sense to me then, and it still doesn't. But I was only technically dead for less than 10 minutes."

Harry had bent forward and put his head in his hands. He privately wondered what would have been the outcome had he not given Felicity Sharma the go ahead to use the Grid's computer system to investigate her encryption system. Ruth put her hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed  
her palm over his back in a circular motion.

Harry lifted his head to look at her. "As awful as this whole episode has been," he said, "it could have been a a lot worse. If Felicity hadn't come to work for me. If she hadn't noticed her encryption being used, and if she hadn't been as persistent as she was in chasing up those who had used it. God, Ruth, you could have been stuck in that twilight zone for another ten years. Maybe more."

Ruth leaned across to him and put both her arms around his shoulders, and he responded by putting his arms around her waist. They sat on the end of the bed and held each other for a long time.

.

That evening they were eating dinner in the dining room with Geoff and his wife, Corinne, when Harry's phone rang.

'Yes," he answered, standing and walking away from the table.

"Harry, it's Towers."

"Home Secretary."

"Look, I'd intended getting there tonight, but that poses all sorts of logistical difficulties where beds and sleeping is concerned, and on top of that I have a 9 pm appointment with the PM which I'd best not postpone. The earliest I can be there is 11am tomorrow. I may be as late as midday, but I hope not. I'm having to cancel all my appointments between 9 am and 4 pm as it is. I'm intrigued by this whole kerfuffle, Harry. I await the details with relish."

.

Back in their room, Harry told Ruth about Towers' proposed visit.

"I haven't told him any of the details," Harry said, "and I haven't told him about you being here. But if he reads the reports I asked Felicity to send him, then he'll know all about it. As of tonight when he rang me, I'm assuming he hadn't yet read Felicity's paperwork."

"I hope he reads it well before he gets here," Ruth said. "He looks like heart attack material to me, and if he sees me before he reads that report, he may be adding to the corpse count."

Harry noted to himself that he'd not yet heard Ruth use the term `corpse count'. He was learning new things about her all the time.

.

They crawled into bed, each with a book. Early mornings meant early to bed.

"Listen to this, Ruth," Harry said, before he read out a passage from his crime novel. Meeting her silence, he looked across to find her asleep, her book resting open on her chest. He carefully took the book from her hands, bookmarked it, and put it on the table next to her side of the bed. He then slipped down into the bed after turning off the lamps either side of the bed. He turned towards her, and put his arm around her, finding comfort in her nearness. If Ruth's unexpected resurrection had had a positive outcome, other than her continued presence on the earth, it was the immediate closeness which existed between the two of them. They had instantly navigated all the awkwardness that had often made their previous relationship so painful and frustrating. Harry hoped that they could continue in this way. He had already decided that he wasn't prepared to accept any stalling or sidestepping on her part. Times had changed, and so had he.


	6. Chapter 6

_**This begins a tiny bit smutty, so be warned – if that is not your thing.**_

**oOo**

Harry woke with a start, sensing some kind of change in the bed. He was lying on his side, facing Ruth's back. He tried moving the hand he had draped around her, only to find that it was under her pyjama top, and that he was touching her bare skin. A warm flush suffused his whole body from his genitals outwards as he imagined what was hidden under her pyjama top. He thought about withdrawing his hand, but didn't want to risk waking her, and nor did he want to …... he didn't want to stop. Experiencing a moment of daring, and given the room was dark, he slid his fingers further along her bare skin, only to meet the full curve of her bare breast. He held his breath, stopped in silence as he felt his body respond. What now? To withdraw his hand from there would be – well – awkward, so he very slowly inched his hand further until the tips of his fingers met her nipple. He felt the nipple harden under his fingers, and Ruth uttered a low moan.

"Don't you dare stop, Harry," she said quietly, leaning back slightly so that her back met his chest.

He nestled his face into her neck, and allowed the tension in his body to leave as he relaxed against her, and circled her nipple with his fingertip. Ruth's moan became slightly louder, as she pushed her buttocks back against him. "Mmm," she said, "there you are again." Still circling her nipple with his fingertip, he kissed her neck, opening his mouth so that his tongue drew circles on her skin. Her reply was to grind her buttocks into him. _God, Ruth! _ He pushed back, thrusting against her rounded bottom, two layers of material separating their bodies.

Harry reached out to her and pulled her around to face him. Their mouths, hungry now, found one another, tongues and lips exploring the mouth of the other, fully occupied, no space for words. Ruth reached out her hand and lightly touched his erection through his track pants, running a finger along its length and back again. Harry moaned his enjoyment, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her pyjama top.

"Here, let me," she said. In a matter of seconds she'd opened the front of her pyjama top and slipped it off her shoulders.

He quickly removed his t shirt and threw it on the floor beside the bed. "Remember what we decided," he said before he kissed her.

"What part?"

"The part about no full sex, just fifteen-year-old groping."

"I never did any of this as a fifteen-year-old," she mumbled into his mouth.

"Me neither."

Ruth pulled back from him and looked at him, her eyes now almost fully adjusted to the minimal light. "You didn't? What we you doing instead?"

"Playing rugby and cricket, going hiking, staring at girls from a distance, wondering what I had to do to get them to notice me. Wondering what I'd do if I ever got a girl alone. You?"

"I was too busy reading to notice boys even existed."

"We're such a pair, aren't we?" Harry said, leaning across to kiss her again. "Neither of us knows how to snog like a fifteen-year-old."

Ruth laughed into his mouth. "I guess we'll have to use our imaginations, then."

So they did. Hands ran over bare skin, lips and tongues explored crevices, nipples, belly buttons, lower abdomens, and even lower. He adored her with his eyes, his hands, his lips, and she quivered under his adoring gaze. She climaxed quickly, his fingers having displayed an expertise any fifteen-year-old could only dream of, he holding back to watch her face as the waves of ecstasy washed over her and through her. He held her close and whispered words of love, as lovers do. He'd dreamed of this moment for over six years, fantasised about bringing Ruth to orgasm, but the reality had outstripped his fantasy by the power of infinity.

"Now it's your turn," she said into his shoulder, pushing her body into him gently, him pushing back.

"It's not going to take much," he breathed, trying hard to hold himself back, enjoying the playfulness of their explorations too much to ever want it to end. "It'll be over in seconds," he added.

He felt her fingers play across his chest, then over the curve of his stomach, then she slipped them under the waistband of his track pants until she touched him, hard and hot and ready-for-anything, barely holding himself in check. She stroked him slowly, which drove him to plead, "Go faster, harder – we're fifteen, remember."

So she did, and it wasn't long before he reached his completion, groaning his release, his fingers wound in her hair.

"I've fantasised for so long about doing that," she whispered, but he was too spent, too depleted to answer. He just smiled, and closed his eyes, an exhausted `thank you' spilling from his lips.

She lay against him until he slept, then she slid out of bed to wash her hands. She slipped back into bed beside him with a handful of tissues, cleaning him up as he slept. Then she snuggled against him, wishing she'd not been so shy with him in the past, regretting all those times she'd held back, or denied him, or simply run from him. Him no longer being her boss had removed one large hurdle of resistance for her, but it was more than that. Her experiences during the past three months had allowed something to emerge from within her, and she could only describe this `something' as a desperation, an urge to live the life she'd wanted for herself, but had not been able to give herself in her past. Harry was part of this, and if he wanted her – truly wanted her – then she was his. Of course, being here in this hotel room was hardly real life. They would have to leave here soon, as soon as it was safe for her to again move freely in the world. Wherever they ended up after this – Harry's house, another house somewhere in the country – they would no doubt find that all those limitations and misunderstandings and blocks which had emerged between them in the past would still be there in some form. There was something about she and Harry being together – alone – which created a unit which was greater than the sum of its parts. Except that many of those parts were created within the imaginations of each of them. She wanted them to work well together, and Harry obviously did also, but sheer will and desire may not be enough. Ruth knew that she must stop running, but she also needed Harry to open up more, and in so doing, they needed to trust the other with that which they could barely trust themselves. Sex was the easy part. They'd desired one another for so long. It was the spook part of each of them – the part which harboured secrets and silences – which needed to be unlocked, so that the dark shadows trapped within could leave.

.

Harry was woken by her lips on his. "It's ten o'clock, sleepyhead," she said, her mouth smiling against his. "Towers is due at eleven. We need to be showered and dressed and in the dining room by then."

He reached up to her and pulled her down on top of him. He pushed his hand under her jumper until he reached the resistance of her bra. "Whoever invented these things needs to be taken out into the woods and shot."

"I think you'll find a lot of the women the world over will have something to say about that."

.

Harry spent a long time under the shower. As well as soaping himself all over and shampooing what little hair he had, he was thinking through the implications of what he and Ruth had done in the early hours. He had had sex with a lot of women, and most of those women he had desired, but not loved. He had desired Juliet Shaw, but he'd never loved her. Having sex with women he didn't love was easy. Having sex with a woman he loved required so much more of him. He had always hoped that were he and Ruth ever to enter into a sexual relationship, all that which lay unspoken between them would dissolve under the power of their sexual attraction. He also feared that what had always lay unspoken between them may rear up to prevent them fulfilling their desires with one another. Whilst what had happened through the night was not a normal and everyday sex act, it was close, and remarkably none of his fears had been realised. What they had done together seemed to him to have strengthened their growing trust in one another, as well as dissolving a lot of the awkwardness they each felt in the company of the other. He could not have wished for more.

.

Harry could feel the tension in Ruth's body as she sat beside him at a table in the dining room of the hotel. Geoff had just told them that the Home Secretary and his PA had arrived. Harry wasn't especially nervous, as he enjoyed the verbal sparring and piss-taking which his encounters with Towers frequently descended into. Had their roles been different, or had they met under different circumstances, he and Towers may even have become friends. Harry understood how Ruth must be feeling, although he was concerned that she hadn't shared with him any fears she had about being reunited with her former boss.

Then Towers was there, his short and rotund shape hovering in the doorway. He nodded at Harry, and then his gaze took in Ruth. Harry and Ruth both stood. The Home Secretary walked straight to Harry and shook his hand, then he took Ruth's hand in both his and looked into her eyes. "Ruth," he said, "this is a great day for me. A great day." Turning to Harry again, "You're a lucky sod, Harry. I don't know why all the best women fall at your feet, but they do, and I envy you. What is it about you, I wonder?"

"Home Secretary," Harry acknowledged the comment without making a direct reply.

"I hope you'll forgive me bringing Toby into this meeting," Towers said, referring to the mid-30's man in a grey pin-striped suit and pink tie, hovering behind Towers, his laptop at the ready. "Toby, sit yourself at the end of the table, and I'll sit opposite these two."

At Toby Baldwin's insistence, Towers had read Felicity Sharma's report the previous evening, right after his meeting with the Prime Minister. "I haven't informed him – the PM, that is – about the details of this debacle, because I wanted to see you two first. I've read your medical report, Ruth, and that looks quite fine, all things considered. It could easily have been a lot worse." He hesitated, looking at his hands clenched on the table in front of him. "Toby, could you show Ruth that list of names and photographs we came up with? Ruth I need you to let me know if any of these characters were involved in your kidnapping and resultant incarceration."

"I was hardly incarcerated, Home Secretary."

"What would you call it, then? You were kept from your life, those you love and who love you, you were fed a pack of lies, and told how lucky you were to be alive. Given what we now know about how soon your heart was restarted after it had stopped, I suspect that the normal retrieval team – the one who was _supposed_ to have arrived that day at the Thames estuary – would have brought you back without the help from any Genesis drug. They did you no favours, Ruth. They used you, they played on your love for this man -" with his hand he indicated Harry, "and they kept you from the life you had been living. All for what? Some bloody wonder drug which cannot, and will not ever be marketed openly. You had almost four months of your life stolen from you, and I'm so sorry that this happened to you. If I had a magic wand I could wave to take us back three and a half months, then I would. This has been an absolute travesty. The word `incarcerated' doesn't even begin to describe what happened to you."

Harry reached across and took Ruth's hand in his own, bringing both their hands to rest on his thigh. She looked through the photographs Toby Baldwin had pushed across the table in front of her.

"I know a few of these people," she said quietly, "but this is the only one I ever saw at the medical facility. I don't know his name. He was in the corridor, talking to one of the doctors." She picked up a photograph of a mid-40's white male, handsome, brown-haired, brown-eyed, square face.

"That's Hugh O'Donnell," Towers said. "He's been with the security service for around five years. Competent, highly ambitious, but not brilliant." Turning to Toby, he asked, "Do we know where he is, or who he is associated with?"

"Whereabouts unknown for the past four weeks, but he's believed to be in Paris, because he was thick with Paul Middlemass, and that's where Middlemass now lives."

"Get on to Irvine at Six," he continued, addressing Toby directly, "and tell him to find both Middlemass and O'Donnell, and bring them in. _Now_, Toby. This is of extreme importance. We have no idea what else these two have up their sleeves. I suspect that their experiments with Genesis are just the tip of a very large iceberg. Christ almighty, for all we mere mortals know they could be planning to create a super-race, and then where would we all be?"

Toby left the room just as a waitress entered the room with a tray of coffee and pastries. She placed it on the table in front of them before pouring coffees for everyone.

"I could do with something stronger to go with this," Towers said, looking at the waitress.

"What can I get you, sir?" said the waitress.

"Scotch whiskey – preferably Ardberg or Glenlivet - no ice, a small jug of water. Room temperature for the water. Harry, what about you? Will you join me in a drink?"

"Nothing for me, Home Secretary. Just coffee is fine."

"Gone all puritan on me, have you, Harry? Ruth, something stronger for you?"

"No, thank you. Coffee's fine for me, too."

Towers nodded at the waitress, who promptly left the room.

"I hope my driver is being as well looked after as we are," mused Towers.

"I can assure you he will be," replied Harry. "There's just one thing, Home Secretary," Harry continued, "you may have noticed your own signature on some of the requisition forms from both medical facilities."

"Yes, I did. A couple of them were genuine, too, but most were forged. I changed my signature around three years ago, adding the small `m' after the `W'. Just one of those things. I felt I needed a change of image, or some such nonsense. The genuine signatures were from over three years ago, which gives some idea of how long this lot have been planning this research. I had Hugh O'Donnell working in my office around that time. He was part of my specialist security team, but I seem to remember him as being rather unremarkable – competent, but dull. He never put a foot wrong, nor did he ever stand out in the crowd. He's just the sort of person to have pulled off this little adventure without being noticed."

They sipped their coffees and talked about the state of things in Britain. Harry then spoke up. "Home Secretary," he said, "there's the question of compensation for Ruth, and the other seven people who were experimented on. Whilst the security services were not directly responsible for what happened, it seems to me -"

"Yes, I get your drift, Harry, and I agree with what you're suggesting. All the people who fell victim to these …... these vultures worked in security, and so were put in a position of vulnerability – totally against their will - by the very nature of their jobs. Only one worked in the field, while the rest of them worked at a desk, a job which should not present dangers such as this. I spoke about this briefly with the PM last night. Whilst he doesn't know the exact nature of what happened to any of you, he and I agree that you should all be granted a pension for life. That is, if you are prepared to accept it, and provided you have no wish to return to work."

"I have no desire to return to working for you, Home Secretary, as much as I enjoyed it at the time. I've had a taste of the quiet life, and I've enjoyed that far more."

"There's one other thing," Towers added. "Harry told me not long after you – er – died that you both had been looking to retire from the service together and move to a small cottage in – er – Suffolk, was it?"

Harry and Ruth both nodded.

"Well, I just may have something which suits you. Around ten weeks ago, the Home Office purchased a rather run-down cottage near the coast in Kent. It's not Suffolk, but it's closer to London than anywhere in Suffolk. It's being renovated as we speak. Its purpose was originally for it to be a safe house, but I think you might like it. Shall we say, you can have it for the price we paid for it, and the renovations come gratis. There are other cottages all over the UK that we can look at to replace that one."

"I don't know what to say, Home Secretary," Ruth said.

"Say yes," the Home Secretary replied. "I feel bad about what happened to you, and I want to make amends."

Harry and Ruth looked at one another. Their hands were still linked, and still rested on Harry's thigh. Neither knew quite what to say.

Harry spoke first. "We'll have to take a look at it, Home Secretary. When it's safe for Ruth to leave here, then we'll be going back to London, but we'll need to inspect this cottage together before we give you an answer."

"Yes, yes, of course," Towers replied. "Ah, my drink. Thank you, my dear. Just the thing for a parched traveller."

Harry and Ruth looked at one another, smiling at Towers' exaggerated need for a drink. It was not so very long ago that Harry would have needed no excuse to join him. Toby returned to the dining room and whispered in Towers' ear.

"Good, good," Towers said to him. Turning to Ruth and Harry, he said, "Retrieval of those two lowlifes from Paris is under way as we speak. Hopefully, they'll be under lock and key in London by nightfall. Now, there was one other thing. I believe your analyst, Harry – the new one – wants to see you both. Just between you and me, I think she'd like a little jaunt outside the big smoke for the day. When would suit you?"

"How about tomorrow?" Harry suggested.

"Toby, did you get that? Give Felicity Sharma a ring."

"No, it's fine, Home Secretary," Harry replied. "I'll ring her when we're through here."

"Excellent," Towers replied, "excellent. Now, Harry, am I right in thinking that you'll want to be retiring so that you and Ruth can swan off together into the sunset?"

"We haven't discussed that yet, but it's quite on the cards."

"I'll be sorry to lose you, Harry. I'll miss our talks. I'll miss both of you. There's nothing quite so endearing as a quaint old-fashioned spy."

Harry and Ruth exchanged a glance as they sipped their coffee. Quaint or not, since Ruth had `died' there had been increasing and not-so-subtle pressure on Harry to retire, so he preferred to jump before he was pushed. Besides, he was tired from Fighting The Good Fight. The time was right. No, the time was near perfect.


	7. Chapter 7

Felicity Sharma drove herself to Bristol, and following Harry's directions to the hotel, arrived just on lunchtime. Ruth watched through the window in their room as Felicity parked her grey, five-year-old Peugeot 407 across from the front door of the hotel.

"Batwoman's here," Ruth said, turning to Harry, who was lying on their bed reading a book, his back propped against two pillows. "God, Harry, she looks like a character out of a nineteenth century novel. She should have ridden in side-saddle on her trusty steed called Mountjoy."

"Ruth, I think you've perhaps read one novel too many."

"She looks wonderful!" Ruth added, watching Felicity stride from her car to the hotel entrance. "I can see why you're attracted to her."

"I said I liked her, Ruth. That's not the same thing."

"Oh, Harry, I don't mind. I can't imagine any man alive not being attracted to her, but …... I know it's me you love."

He sat up and gazed across at her. Her blue eyes were glowing with feeling, making her seem even more alive than she was. "Yes, it is you I love," he replied, and before he could say more, the phone by the bed rang. "Yes?" he answered. "No, we'll come down and meet her in the guest lounge." He hung up the phone. "Time to meet Batwoman," he said as he stood, and then held his hand out to Ruth, and she grasped it, linking her fingers through his.

.

Harry and Ruth entered the guest lounge hand-in-hand just as Felicity was removing her cape – a deep russet-red woollen number. Underneath the cape she wore a long black skirt and a black polo-neck jumper with long black boots. Ruth immediately thought of the words from the Alfred Noyes poem, "_The Highwayman_", which she'd learned in primary school. All Felicity needed was some pistol butts and a rapier, and a horse, of course. Having draped her cape over a chair, Felicity turned to greet them, her face in a broad smile.

"Harry! Ruth!" she said, holding her hands out to them. "What a joy it is to see you both."

From the lips of many others, her words would have sounded contrived and insincere, but Ruth knew immediately that this woman meant every word she spoke.

Harry gave Felicity a brief hug, and then Ruth had both her hands grasped by the new analyst. Ruth was surprised to note that Felicity was only marginally taller than she, and yet she gave the impression of being taller than Harry. "You're our miracle woman," Felicity said. "I am so thrilled to meet you. Of course, you were something of a legend at GCHQ. Your name is still uttered in hushed tones."

"I'm sure that's not true. I was something of the _enfant terrible_ to some of those at GCHQ. I had a habit of embarrassing those who believed they knew it all. It was such a joy to work at Section D. No such delicate egos."

"I'm loving it at Section D, of course. I hope you're not looking to come back."

Ruth looked at Harry, who answered for both of them. "I think you'll find neither of us are looking to return to the service. We planned to leave together when Ruth died, so that plan has just been put on hold until now. I only kept working at MI5 because I needed to keep occupied, and I kept telling myself that I was making a difference. How is Erin managing as section chief?"

"She'll be a lot better when she learns to trust my judgement," Felicity replied. "I think that maybe I scare her. Older woman, a tad flamboyant -"

"Only a tad?" Harry commented with a smile.

"And then there's Malcolm," Felicity continued. "He and I get on like the proverbial house on fire, and even if I do say it myself, together we are a formidable force to be reckoned with. I'm afraid Calum, Dimitri and Erin think we know nothing at all, and yet Malcolm and I _know_ that with you being here with Ruth, Harry, it is he and I are running Section D on our own at present. It's the survival of the fittest, and Malcolm and I will not be beaten!"

"And what about Alec?" asked Ruth.

"Oh, you know Alec," Felicity replied. "He just does his own thing."

The waitress entered the lounge to tell them their lunch was ready, so the three of them followed her to the dining room.

.

After lunch they took a walk through the hotel grounds. It was a cool and overcast day, and the air was still. Harry and Ruth walked close together, their fingers linked loosely, while Felicity walked beside them.

"You know, Harry, I've been doing a lot of thinking since I first discovered that Ruth was alive," Felicity began. "I tried to imagine what it would be like were my Anthony, by some miracle of science or even magic, to return to me alive and well. Now, I know you're both over the moon to be back together, but as much as I love Anthony still, and miss him every day, I think that I've become a different person as a result of his death. I'm now so darned independent that there really isn't any space in my life for a man, and especially a man like Anthony. I don't like that about myself, but it seems to be true."

"You're a different personality to me, Felicity," Harry replied. "When Ruth had to leave the UK – it was over 5 years ago now – I filled my life, but there was always a Ruth-shaped space inside me, waiting for her to come back and fill it. When she's not been in my life, for whatever reason, that space is always there."

"Now, you see, Harry, that makes you a romantic," Felicity said, stopping to sniff the blossoms on a small shrub, "whereas, I'm the practical kind. I think that Ruth and I have that in common. It's the analyst in us both. We each have the ability to thrive during the tough times."

They found an arbour at the end of the garden, inside which were two benches facing one another. Felicity sat on one, and Harry and Ruth sat together, facing Felicity. They sat for a few minutes in silence, drinking in the heady scents of the magnolia blossoms which surrounded them. Harry had slipped an arm across the bench behind Ruth, but didn't touch her, aware that he needed to sometimes simply leave her be. He didn't own her, after all.

"What now, Felicity?" Harry asked. "Are you still following up the Genesis project?"

"In my own time only," she replied. "It fascinates me, and given I was the one who uncovered it in the first place, I feel a mild ownership of it."

"One thing intrigues me about the documents you uncovered," said Harry. "Given these people went to all the trouble to steal several different unapproved and undocumented encryption systems, why would they then include the correct names of their patients? Why go to such lengths, then be so lazy when it came to covering their own names as well as the names of their patients? It makes little sense."

"I've asked myself that many times, Harry," Felicity answered.

"Arrogance," Ruth said. She had been quiet for much of the afternoon, happy to allow Harry and Felicity to catch up. They seemed to get on well, and to have had a good working relationship, and so for the most part she had just listened. She was secure in her relationship with Harry. He had never given her any valid reason for jealousy. She had been jealous of Elena Gavrick's hold over Harry, but had, just prior to her `death', recognised this hold to be fake and contrived, and based in lies. "People who think that it's fine to mess with life and death are arrogant beyond belief," she added. "They never for a moment considered they'll be caught. You know, not long after I was up and about and thinking it was about time I got a job, two of the other patients suddenly died. I only found out because I'm quiet, and I overhead two staff members talking about it. Their bodies were incinerated in the hospital incinerator – they were disposed of like amputated limbs. After all, the families of these people already believed them to be dead. That's arrogance. They had a God complex."

"I think you're right, Ruth," said Felicity.

"Have all the people who were …... responsible for the clinics …... have these people been caught? Arrested? It's a civil issue as much as a security services issue," added Ruth.

"All except two of the doctors from Oxford, and they were out of the country at the time the clinics were raided. But they were just paid staff, and not the minds behind it. Last I heard, Hugh O'Donnell is talking like a magpie, while Paul Middlemass claims total ignorance. It's my guess he's the mastermind. He's a sleazy piece of work, always was. He needed to have someone still inside the security services, and that someone was O'Donnell. It's just that O'Donnell is not quite spy material."

"Felicity," Ruth continued, "have you heard how any of the other patients have been welcomed back by their families? I feel like I'm the lucky one here. I only have Harry, and he seems to be quite pleased I'm back." She looked up at Harry, and he squeezed her shoulder with his hand, smiling down at her.

"You are definitely one of the luckier ones, Ruth, "replied Felicity. "There are two patients from the Oxford facility who found they were not terribly welcome when they returned to their own lives. I don't know if I should tell you this, but it's become quite common knowledge. A woman called Giselle – she died around a month prior to you, Ruth – she went home to find her husband had sold their home, and moved to Italy with his PA. Not a nice homecoming at all. The other was a young man called Jamie, who'd worked at six. His fiancée is now engaged to his older brother. It was quite a shock for him. Everyone else, yourself included, has been welcomed by loved ones, although there is some readjusting needs doing."

"Yes," said Ruth, "I'm sure there will be. Harry and I are currently experiencing a kind of honeymoon phase. It's rather nice to get up each day having no real responsibilities."

"And it's rather nice," added Harry, "having Ruth all to myself. Previously, there was always someone around, and finding time alone was almost impossible."

"Hopefully you can make up for that now," said Felicity.

"I really don't know how to thank you, Felicity," Ruth began, "for your work on this, for your persistence and your dedication. Harry told me how hard you worked to decode the documents. We both – Harry and I – owe you an enormous debt of gratitude."

"I got my encryption back. That was part of my motivation, but once I began to uncover the scheme, I couldn't let it go. I'm just relieved that it has a happy ending."

"And that those responsible have been caught," Ruth added.

"Most of them," Felicity replied. "I'm sure Genesis 1197 will reappear some day. It will have a different name, but people like Middlemass are glory seekers, and they can't help themselves. It's such a shame that he and those like him have no concept of the damage they do to the lives of others. On a different note," Felicity continued, "I can see no reason why you two can't leave this little sanctuary you have here. The only people who are likely to silence Ruth and the others are all in custody, although I still have some work still to do on uncovering the identities of those who funded this project."

"Who has the official say-so whether we stay or go back to London?" asked Ruth.

"The Home Secretary, I imagine," said Felicity. "You should be hearing from him within the next 24 hours or so."

.

Felicity left in time to be back in London for dinner. Harry and Ruth stood in the driveway of the hotel and waved to her as she left.

"What do you think of her now?" asked Harry.

"She's amazing," replied Ruth. "A breath of fresh air. I can't believe how normal she seems. She hasn't been damaged by working for the service. Not like the rest of us."

"I think that she hides it," Harry said, "or else she genuinely lets it wash over her. She's certainly rather brash, and brave also. I admire that."

.

Just as Felicity had predicted, the Home Secretary rang just before dinner that evening.

"Thank you, Home Secretary," Harry said, finishing the call.

"And?" Ruth asked, taking her eyes from the TV, which she'd muted while Harry was on the phone.

"We're free to leave here as soon as we wish. The Home Office will pay for seven nights here should we want them. That's four more than we've already had. We'll be here tonight, because I'd promised Geoff that I'd have a drink with him after dinner. It's Corinne's Bridge night, so we're having a guy's night. I thought you might like to -"

"I'd love an evening alone, Harry. I can read, and go to bed early if I want."

"Good, I was worried you might feel left out."

"Harry, you forget that, like you, I'm quite the loner. I'm very skilled at entertaining myself."

"However are we going to manage a relationship in the long term, then?" he asked, more as a quip than a genuine question.

"We'll figure it out, Harry. We usually do."

"Do you want to stay here for another couple of days?"

"Let's not plan too far ahead," Ruth said. "Let's see how we feel each morning when we wake up."

"Good idea," Harry replied.

.

When Harry opened the door to their hotel room after having drinks with Geoff, the only illumination in the room came from the small lamp on the table under the window. Ruth's body formed a lump under the duvet, and by her breathing, he assumed she was asleep. Rather than disturb her, he decided to sleep in the single bed in the adjoining room.

.

It was still dark, and he was in a deep sleep when he felt the duvet being pulled back from his shoulders. His survival instincts kicked in, and he sat up quickly, his body on full alert.

"Move over, Harry," Ruth said, tumbling into the bed beside him.

"But I decided to sleep here to give you some peace," he complained.

"Maybe I don't want peace." She pushed herself close to him, then looked at him, her eyes wide. "Harry, you're naked," she said.

"My sleeping clothes are under my pillow in the big bed." To his ears it sounded like a lame excuse. He had been quite used to sleeping naked, and only wore a t-shirt and track pants to bed out of politeness towards Ruth.

"You hadn't been expecting me then?" she asked.

"Had I been expecting you, I would have made sure I was wearing something." Harry is not normally embarrassed about his body, but under Ruth's scrutiny he feels more than naked. He's concerned about what she'll think about his scars, and signs of age his body displays.

Ruth snuggled against him, and her hands began to wander over his chest and shoulders. As much as Harry was enjoying this, there was also something not quite right about it.

He pulled her hands away, and turned to face her. "Ruth," he said carefully, "please go back to the other bed. I've been drinking, and I don't want to breathe over you with boozy breath. Please. My self-control may not be what it should be."

Ruth turned away from him and got out of bed. Before he could say anything else, she had left the room. He rolled on to his back and groaned. He had the feeling he had handled the situation quite badly.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry awoke early and stepped under the shower. He let the water run very hot, and standing under it, his skin searing, he forced his mind to focus, the cobwebs left by the alcohol having dissolved while he was sleeping. He had to sort this out with Ruth. He had to be clearer with her. He could sense the beginnings of a father-daughter dynamic emerging in their relationship, and that was the last thing he wanted to have happen. He was more than a decade older than she, and her beloved father had died when she was still a child. One didn't have to be a psychologist to see the potential pitfalls for them. He cleaned his teeth under the shower, then stepped out on to the tiles to wipe himself dry, then, with a fresh towel wrapped around his waist, he shaved. Still wearing only the towel, he ventured into the bedroom where Ruth appeared to be asleep, the duvet covering her head. He slid under the duvet, the towel still wrapped securely around him.

"What?" she said, her head still under the duvet.

"We have to talk."

Ruth pushed the duvet back from her face and looked across at Harry, her eyes squinting in the morning light. "That sounds ominous. What should we be talking about?" She lifted her body and her pillow until she was sitting, her back resting against her pillow. With both hands she pushed her hair from her face, and behind her ears.

"Last night, for a start."

"Oh that," she breathed more easily, and smiled at him. "I was a bit disappointed, but I understand what you were saying."

"Ruth, you shot out of that bed like you were on fire. I thought I'd offended you. I didn't want us to be having drunken sex. It would have been a really bad idea, and we would both have regretted it."

"Harry, I was a little hurt, but once I got back into this bed I knew what you were saying. You were trying to protect me, to protect _us_. That's very …... decent and brave of you. It was a noble thing to have done. I love that about you."

"Are you sure about that? You're not just saying that to appease me?"

"No," she reached out to him and traced her finger across his lips. "Maybe you were a little bit …... blunt, but that's your way. I know that when you speak your mind it's sometimes hard to accept what you're saying, and sometimes I take a while for things to sink in. I think the worst before the truth emerges. I'm not used to …... this. I'm not used to someone loving me like you love me. I'm used to men taking advantage of me. I'm having to adjust, and any such …. adjustment may take time."

Harry nodded, feeling relieved. Her explanation made perfect sense to him. "Ruth," he began, grabbing the hand that was still tracing his lips, "do you think of me as a father figure?"

"Oh, Harry, you don't really believe in that older man-father figure bollocks, do you? I don't think of you as my father. I think of you as …... Harry."

"But I was your boss, and I _am_ much older than you -"

"And my father died when I was eleven, and I miss him every day, but you're not his substitute. I tried for a long time to not love you. I tried to forget you while I was in Cyprus. It worked for a while, but thoughts of you crept in when I least expected it. I'd be in bed with George -"

"You don't have to tell me this."

"I think I do. If anyone in my life was a father figure, it was George. He took care of me, so that I didn't have to think about a thing. And he was already himself a father when I met him."

"So was I."

"Minor detail. When George and I would be about to …... make love, I'd close my eyes and imagine him to be you. The best sex George and I ever had was when I was imagining he was you. It worked every time. He'd be thinking how great he was in bed, and I'd be thinking how great _you_ were."

"That's perverse."

"It was _survival_, Harry. It's what I did to get through that time away from everyone and everything I loved."

"When you came back from Cyprus, you told me your life there had been simple and …... and elegant -"

"It was, but only because George took care of everything for me, and all I had to do was enjoy the sunshine. George looked after me. He was a lovely man, but he could be quite controlling, too. He'd watch me, and I knew I had to appear like I was not thinking about you, just so he'd feel safe and secure. The only time I felt free to think about you fully was while George and I were having sex, which is an irony in itself. I got very good at being two different people inside my own skin."

Harry considered his words before he spoke again. "Ruth, you don't have to answer this if it makes you feel uncomfortable …... but, did you ever call out my name when you came? With George, I mean."

Ruth looked up at him through her eyelashes, the answer already evident in her clear embarrassment. "The first time I imagined George to be you, yes I did. Afterwards he asked me who Harry was. I just told him it was someone I used to know. After all, it would have been idiotic to say I knew no-one called Harry, and that the name just slipped out. After that, I was more careful, and I just called out your name in my head, where George couldn't hear it. I found it really hard to exercise such restraint. I missed you terribly, Harry. I missed …... everything about you, even my private fantasies, so thinking about you in that way served to keep you with me."

Harry reached across with his hand and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "When I said we needed to talk, I hadn't imagined that we'd need to talk about this."

"I'd wanted to talk to you about it after I came back from Cyprus, but you'd look so pained at the mention of George that I just couldn't do it. I needed to tell you that George was part of my survival while I was away. He was kinder than I deserved him to be, but I didn't feel very much for him other than immense gratitude. I told myself I loved him, but that was all to do with survival. Telling myself I loved him allowed me to live my life with him without feeling guilty about it. He knew all along my heart belonged with someone else, and he deserved better than that."

"And all that time I was thinking that you wouldn't talk to me about George because you still loved him, and you blamed me for his death."

Harry slid his hand down to her neck, and while he was rubbing his thumb gently along the line of her jaw, he reached across and put his lips to hers. Very carefully, he opened his mouth and touched her lips with his tongue. Ruth moaned softly and opened her mouth beneath his. They kissed for a long, long time, their lips soft and gentle, their tongues exploring, but not forcefully. When they at last broke apart, it was as though something which had always been between them, pushing them apart like the like poles of a magnet, was no longer there. Ruth could sense that at last George's ghost had been exorcised; he no longer hovered between them, either out of guilt, or misunderstanding. They each felt a peace in being together that in any other couple could have taken years to achieve.

They lay together in bed, their arms around each other. Neither had thoughts of making further sexual contact. Just being together in that way was enough.

.

"I was thinking," Harry said at last, "that maybe we should go home tomorrow. We can both live at my house. It's big enough for two. I have a spare room if you want to be on your own."

"Harry, I meant it when I said I wanted to share a bed with you for the rest of my life. I have no intention of being sent to the spare room, as nice as I'm sure it is. I trust your bed is big enough for the two of us."

"It's big enough for a family of eight."

"I guess that means if I want my space, all I have to do is sleep on my side of the bed."

"I mean it, Ruth. You may need your space, so you should have a room of your own, even if you never sleep there."

"But you said yourself that you're a loner, too, Harry. What happens when we fight – or at the very least, disagree about something – and you want your bed back? What happens then?"

"We work it out. That's what grown-ups do."

She looked right at him without speaking. He knew what she was thinking. She was thinking: _What about you and Jane? Were you not both grown-ups?_ "No," he said, "Jane and I did not handle our relationship as adults should. We both made mistakes. We were both too stubborn to change our behaviour. You and I are different."

"I didn't say a thing," Ruth said.

"You didn't have to," he replied, "it was written all over your face. You're also thinking: _He made __such mistakes with his wife, had numerous affairs, spent a long time away from home, so how will it be different with me? _Am I right?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Well, Ruth, he who never makes a mistake can never allow himself to become a better person."

"Is that a Native American proverb?"

"No, it's a Harry-ism. I've made more mistakes than most men, and I can't promise I won't make many more with you. But I'm more aware now than I was thirty years ago, and we won't have all the pressures of work that have interfered with our happiness in the past."

"I don't expect our lives to be perfect, Harry. I'm prepared to settle for happy."

"I'll also settle for happy, but the most important thing is that we're together. We're being given a second chance, Ruth. How many people have that?"

Harry's stomach let out an audible growl.

"It sounds like breakfast time," said Ruth. "Shall we eat in the dining room?"

"Good idea," he said.

.

Harry stole the last piece of toast from the toast rack. That was his third piece to Ruth's one.

"What shall we do today?" he asked her, as he plastered the remainder of the strawberry jam over the last piece of toast.

"Let's go somewhere," she said. "I take it you have your Range Rover with you?"

"Yes," he replied, "it's locked away in Geoff's garage."

"Let's take a drive over the Severn Bridge," she suggested. "I haven't been outside Bristol since I was brought here almost four months ago, and it's years since I've been to Wales."

.

So, in late morning they set off for Wales. They could have driven to Newport or Port Talbot or Swansea, but they didn't. At Ruth's insistence they drove up into the hills above the coast.

"I want to create some new memories, Harry," she said, "and I want to create them with you. When we're old and unable to get out of our chairs without help, I want us to be able to say: _Do you remember the day we drove to Wales just to look at the scenery?_"

Harry was happy to indulge her in any way he was able. He'd been remiss in the past. He'd told himself that it was the job which always came between them, but he knew it had been more than that. He had been afraid of messing it up with her, and of having her run away from him, or worse. He hated it that he had been so easily hurt by her rejection of him. More than anything, he'd always been afraid she'd one day no longer love him. That had appeared to him like an inevitable outcome, regardless of how well he behaved towards her. Now, that outcome seemed absurd to even consider. He and Ruth had twice endured her death – once for three years, and the other time for over three months – and yet they were still here, and they were still bound by a pledge of love for one another. How may couples could claim that?

They had parked beside a road which led up into the mountains. It seemed like the right place to be eating lunch. Harry laid out a small towel over the bonnet of the car, and on it they'd arranged the bread, cheese, paté, olives and antipasto – a touch of the Mediterranean, just for Ruth. Harry had declined Corinne's offer to pack a bottle of wine. He had noticed Ruth's reluctance to drink alcohol since she'd left the medical facility, and he hadn't wanted to drink the wine on his own. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but enjoying the vista laid out before them. But the air was cold, and the wind-chill factor considerable, and so it wasn't long before they were back inside the cabin of the Range Rover. Ruth looked weary, although it had barely gone one o'clock.

"Are you feeling alright?" Harry asked her, almost afraid of her answer. "You seem tired."

"I am," she said. "I should have told you earlier, I guess. The section doctor told me that my energy should improve when my body has detoxed fully. He said that I may have had a slight adverse reaction to the hypnosis drug. It's as though I've been a drug addict for three and a half months, and my body has to flush all the remnants of the drug from my system."

"So, you'll get better."

"I hope so, although there are no guarantees. Why? It won't change your mind about me, will it?"

"Of course not," he said, looking across at her. "I was just wondering why you seemed tired. You used to be such a ball of energy."

Ruth took her eyes from his, and looked through the windscreen at the fields which lay below them. "Harry," she said, "can I ask you a favour?"

"Anything," he replied.

"Can we go back to the hotel through Bristol? I really need some new clothes. I left all of mine at the medical centre, and the ones you brought me from London are all too big on me now."

"Of course," he replied. "You should have said something earlier. You always look lovely to me, no matter what you're wearing."

"How very diplomatic."

"It's true. Through my eyes, you're always beautiful."

"I trust you have your credit cards with you. My cards will be worthless. Felicity said all the accounts of the participants in the research project have been frozen until the investigation is over."

"It will be my pleasure, Ruth. It's a long time since I've bought a woman clothes."

Harry started the vehicle, looked in the rear view mirror, and pulled out on to the two-lane road.

"Are you happy?" he asked her, after he'd negotiated overtaking a slow-moving tractor pulling a drill seeder.

"I am now you didn't plough us into the back of that tractor and whatever-thing-it-was-pulling."

Harry smiled to himself. He could sense the old Ruth returning in ever-so-small increments. She had been hurt, abused and damaged, and it was going to take a lot of patience, love and care on his part to nurse her back to full health.

"I am, Harry. I'm very happy to be here with you."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Thank you to all who are still following this fic, and especially to those who take the time to review. All views & opinions are valued.**_

_**This story has been so heavy I thought it could do with a little H & R nonsense. They certainly need the nonsense.**_

**oOo**

"God, Harry, you didn't tell me your bed was quite that big!"

"I told you it could sleep eight."

"You've tested that theory of course?"

"No, it's just an estimate."

"I think a closer estimate would be that it can sleep three generations of the one family."

"All at the same time?" he asked.

"All at the same time," she replied. "And you've been sleeping in this enormous bed alone?"

He looked at her, a slight frown puckering the skin between his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Ruth added, breaking eye contact with him, and shaking her head, "that's none of my business."

"It is now. The truth is that since I bought this bed just over five years ago, I've had no-one to share it with. Until now. I bought it not long after you ….. left ... to go away, when I felt I needed cheering up. Unfortunately, all it did was remind me daily that you had gone, likely never to return. Now, though, this bed is yours as much as it is mine. You can stake a claim on it." Harry watched Ruth looking around the room. He followed her eyes as they scrutinised the space.

"It's a very masculine room," she said.

"I'm sure you've noticed by now, Ruth, that I'm a man. Ergo, I'm of the masculine persuasion. Were this room in any way feminine, you might have some reason for concern."

"I had noticed your gender, Harry. It's a bit hard to miss it. I wasn't criticising your tastes. This room is very `you'. I like it."

"But."

"But?"

"When you said, `I like it', there was an implied `but' after that statement," he explained.

"Well …... now you mention it," she said, "grey is something of a non-colour for a duvet."

"I think of it as practical," he said. "You can put any colour at all with grey."

"So, why haven't you?"

"Why haven't I what?"

"Added any other colour?"

"There's the walnut wardrobe and dresser and bedside tables."

"Elegant, yes, but colourful, not so much," Ruth pointed out.

"I take it that you already have plans to redecorate," he said.

"Me? Heavens no. I wouldn't dream of it. But I think you need some colour in the duvet. Something to brighten up the grey."

"That's redecorating."

"What is?" she asked.

"Changing the colour of the duvet is redecorating."

"No, Harry, changing the colour of the duvet is changing the colour of the duvet. Redecorating is when you paint the walls, or change the furniture."

"What do you think of the walls, then?"

"The walls?" she asked, seeing, as if for the first time, the pale ice-blue colour of the walls. "They're fine."

"Good," he replied. "I'm glad you at least approve of the walls. It's called arctic blue."

"What is?"

"The colour of the walls is called arctic blue."

"You painted the walls yourself?" asked Ruth, trying, but struggling to imagine Harry on a ladder with a paint roller and streaks of pale blue paint on his face and in his hair.

"Well, no, but I chose the colour."

Ruth nodded, smiling. "I love this room, Harry. It's very `you'."

"You've already said that, Ruth."

"I have?"

"You have. You said `it's very you' after you said you liked the room. Now, this time you said you _love_ the room. I think perhaps what you're saying is that you're warming to this room. The question you need to be asking yourself, Ruth, is if you can manage to sleep in this room, grey duvet and all?"

"There's only one thing I need for me to be able to comfortably sleep in here."

"And that is?"

"You."

"Me? Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"You're rather easily pleased."

"No, I'm not. I'm actually very difficult to please where my choice of men is concerned. I prefer my men to be fair-haired – although a slight ginger tinge is acceptable - slightly balding, and somewhat taciturn. Do you know how hard it's been for me to find a man like that?"

"Taciturn?"

"And sexy, of course. Any man I sleep with needs to be fair-haired, slightly balding, taciturn and quite sexy. And I quite like a little bit of excess flesh, too. That would make me happy."

"That doesn't sound flattering at all, Ruth."

"Don't underestimate the attraction of excess flesh, Harry. It gives a woman something to hang on to, and on some men it can be quite sexy."

"So, sexy is important, you say?"

"Oh, without a doubt."

"I hope I can live up to all that."

"Oh, I know you can, Harry."

"Do you need me to prove it?" he said, stepping behind her and sliding his arms around her waist, nestling his face into her neck.

"You're very …... persuasive, Harry. A girl could be persuaded by your approach."

Harry turned her around and looked at her, a smile on his lips. "So," he said, "are you persuaded yet?"

"Not ….. quite. Persuade me some more."

He leaned down and gently put his lips against hers. Her mouth opened beneath his, and their kiss, whilst slow and gentle, became deeper and more intense. She pushed her fingers into his hair, drawing him even closer. Sensing where this was likely to lead, and reminding himself that there was still shopping to be done, and an afternoon appointment with Towers, Harry very reluctantly pulled out of the kiss.

"I sense you've been won over," he said, a smug smile on his face.

"But you seem -"

"Distracted by things still to be done. People to see, kitchen cupboards to fill. That sort of thing."

Ruth smiled into his eyes and trailed a finger along his lips and down his chin and so to his throat. "So," she said, "shall we call that the curtain raiser to much later?"

"By that I take it to mean we can continue this at a more convenient time?"

"Yes, that's what I said – same place, different time."

"I look forward to it."

.

They walked to the shops and came back each carrying several shopping bags. They unpacked their shopping together. Ruth had a need to know how Harry organised the food – what went where.

"I have my appointment with Towers at three," he said, needing to remind himself as much as she needed reminding. "We can have some take-away tonight."

"You have cupboards full of food, and so you decide we need to eat take-away?"

"I'll be doing a little more shopping after I see Towers. Handing in my resignation shouldn't take very long, but the shopping might."

"But Harry, I can cook dinner, so why buy take-away?"

"You will not cook, Ruth. I'm meant to be looking after you. All you have to do is relax, have a sleep if you like, read, and I'll bring home dinner after I do my shopping."

"What are you planning to buy?"

"It's a surprise."

"Will I like it?" she asked.

"I hope so."

"What is it?"

"You might be a born spook, Ruth, but so am I. You can't catch me out that easily. It's a surprise, which means you'll have to wait until I get home."

.

It had already gone six-thirty by the time Harry arrived home. He lugged in his two parcels – one large and one not so large – hoping that Ruth would not be at the door to greet him. She wasn't. He could hear the water running upstairs, meaning she was either showering, or she was running a bath.

For once in his life, his timing seemed to be perfect!

Carrying his parcels upstairs, he crept past the guest bathroom where he heard Ruth splashing about in the bath. He reached his – no, _their_ bedroom without incident, so he took his parcels inside the room, and quietly closed the door behind him. Ruth would have thought ahead, taking her clothes into the bathroom with her. She would have no need to enter the bedroom until later.

.

Harry had also picked up some Chinese and some Indian food on the way home, so after he'd dealt with his parcels, he set the table with plates, cutlery, and place mats. This was to be their first proper meal in his house. Correction, in _their_ house. Ruth entered the kitchen as he was putting the take-away food on to serving dishes. He heard her, could smell her perfume, but he didn't turn around. She stood close behind him, so close that he was sure he could feel her breathing. Then he felt her arms slide around his waist, so that her hands settled on his expanding waistline, her fingers drawing delightful circles over his abdomen.

"As I said earlier today," she began, "I love a little extra flesh on a man."

"I certainly fulfil that particular criterion." He turned in the circle of her arms, and kissed her. "Now, help me carry this to the table."

As they ate, Harry told her about his meeting with Towers.

"He had all the paperwork ready. It was rather painless. I have quite a lot of leave owing, so I'll still be paid at my usual rate for a while. After that, my pension kicks in. Towers also mentioned the pensions being paid to you and the other seven people who were experimented on."

"You make it sound like we were rats in a lab."

"In my mind, you were treated that way, Ruth. I'm still angry about it."

"What did Towers have to say about the money for us?"

"The DG still has to sign off on it, but it should be through within a month."

"What about those people who have no other form of income? How will they survive for a month?"

"I think the security service have some kind of emergency fund to draw on for that. I convinced Towers that you should be paid at the same rate you were being paid when you worked for MI5. I tried to get him to agree to the same rate he'd been paying you at the Home Office, but he wouldn't do it. Miserly bastard."

"I'm just happy to be paid at all, Harry. I don't want to be sponging off you for too long."

"You're not."

"Not what?"

"You're not sponging off me, Ruth. I'm willingly sharing what I have with you. To me, it's an act of love. What's mine is yours, and all that."

Ruth looked across the table at this man – this perfect man for her, the one who had been born to find her, woo her, and eventually wait for her until she was ready to allow him to love her – and she couldn't believe what she was hearing him say. He looked up, and seeing the love and longing in her eyes, put down his fork and said quietly, "Are you ready to finish what we began earlier?"

"But it's not even eight-thirty."

"Does that matter?"

"Not really. I am a little tired."

"Too tired to pick up where we left off?" he asked.

She slowly shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.

.

They climbed the stairs without touching. They were each hyper-aware of the charge in the air between them, and so to touch the other was perhaps tempting fate. Harry reached the bedroom door first, and he opened it, and quickly walked across to the bedside table to turn on a lamp. He turned just as Ruth let out a cry.

"Harry!" she said, putting her hand up to her mouth. "You bought a new duvet. And the cover is …... it's blue!" She walked to his side, still overcome by the surprise.

"Do you like it?" he said, already pleased by her response.

"I love it. It's a colour, Harry. It's only _one_ colour, but it's -"

"It's not grey," he said. "This colour reminds me of your eyes," he continued. "I picked this one because it blue-grey, and it matches your eyes. Which is infinitely better than the last one, because that was the same colour as -"

"Storm clouds," Ruth finished for him.

"Yes," he laughed. "It was the same colour as storm clouds. Which is no doubt the reason I've never had anyone else in my bed."

"Obviously," she repeated. "It was definitely the storm-cloud-grey duvet which put off all those women clamouring to share your bed."

"There has only ever been one woman I've wanted in this bed with me."

"I hope you mean me."

"Of course."

"And you thought a grey duvet would be just the thing to entice me into your bed?"

"Would I have got you here quicker had I had a blue duvet?"

"No doubt, Harry. I'd take blue over grey any day."

"I'll have to remember that."

"Please do." Ruth turned to face the man standing next to her. "Harry," she said, touching his arm, "please kiss me."

He stepped towards her, and put one arm around her, while his other hand lifted her chin, bringing her face closer to his own. He gently put his lips on hers, feeling her mouth soft and pliable beneath his. He pulled her against his body, while lips parted so that tongues could entwine, reaching deeper into the other. He felt her hands slip under his jumper, and then she grasped his shirt and lifted that from the waistband of his pants. He bent his head to kiss her neck, just below her ear.

"It's time," he said. "It's time for us." He gently led to the bed, where he held her shoulders while he lay her down. He then climbed on to the bed and lay down beside her. As much as he wanted her – all of her – he knew he would have to take things slowly.


	10. Chapter 10

_**This chapter definitely reaches M rating, so avoid if it may offend. Otherwise, enjoy. (And I've changed the rating to accommodate this chapter.)**_

_**Ruth demonstrates quite a level of boldness – for her, at least – in this chapter, so I hope that it is even mildly believable. When I questioned it myself, I thought it was worth having her take this leap.**_

**oOo**

They lay close together on the bed, both still fully clothed. His arms were around her, her cheek lay in the cleft between his shoulder and chest, and her right hand rested on his chest. Under her fingers through his shirt she could feel the strong beating of his heart. She inched even closer to him, wanting to be fully part of him. His body heat, his nearness was at once comforting and arousing. Ruth drank in his masculine smell, tinged with his cologne. She could think of nowhere else on earth she'd rather be. She gradually noticed a slight discomfort where her hip rested against him. There was a hardness there which had nothing to do with any arousal he may have been experiencing.

"At the risk if sounding clichéd, Harry," she said, "is that a gun in your pocket, or are you -"

"I'm just pleased to see you, Ruth," he replied. She could hear the smile in his voice.

He suddenly leaned away from her, and stuffed his hand in the trouser pocket nearest her. She heard the metallic jangling of the keys before he held them out in front of her. "I forgot to tell you about these," he said. "They're the keys to the cottage in Kent. Towers wants us to look at it in the next few days, and hopefully make a decision about it as soon as we can."

Ruth grasped the tag attached to the keyring and read the address. "I've never heard of Lower Beecham. Strange name. I'll bet there's no Upper Beecham."

"No doubt," Harry replied, placing the keys on the bedside table. "I'm told it's more of a hamlet than a village." He waited for Ruth's comment, but none came. "If we like it, then when the renovations are finished," he continued, "we can take possession, and furnish it to our tastes."

"That sounds fine, Harry."

"Is that all?" he asked, trying to catch her eye. "I thought women loved decorating and furnishing."

"I do, but it's not something I'm really passionate about. I'm not one of those turbo-charged decorators. I like to do it slowly, as the mood takes me, and I think it's important that we purchase furniture and furnishings together. It's _our_ cottage, Harry, so you need to have to have a say in how we furnish it."

"No grey, I suppose."

"Oh no, I quite like grey."

"Just not on a duvet," he said.

"Grey on a duvet is fine, so long as it's not the only colour in the room."

"OK, then. I think I understand."

"Harry, for a man who always dresses as well as you do, you appear to be clueless about soft furnishings."

"I'm beginning to see that. Maybe it's the `Y' chromosome which interferes with understanding the decorating process."

"Then how do you explain Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen?"

"You have a point there, Ruth."

They lay close together, not talking, for some time. It was a peaceful silence which neither wanted to break. Ruth was aware that Harry was keen for them to make love. Since before dinner he'd shown signs of need. She couldn't describe it in any way other than that. He'd looked across the table at her with longing in his eyes, and there was a deep sadness which came off him in waves. But she could feel his need, his wanting of her through his body. She could also feel his steely self-control, something with which she was familiar in relation to him. He was holding himself in check so much that his body almost vibrated with the effort. Since they had been spending so much time together after she'd been rescued from Bristol, she could witness at first hand how patient Harry was, how prepared he was to wait. If he was waiting for her to make the first move, then she'd better get on with it.

"Harry," she began, "do you want to sleep now, or …...?" Bold as she had become, articulating the words for sex still left her tongue-tied.

"I'd quite like the `or', thanks, Ruth," he said quietly, turning to look at her. "If you're ready to take that step."

"I think I'm ready for that," she replied.

"So, you're not gagging for it, then?"

"What does that even mean?"

"I'm not sure, either. I think, put in words of plain English, it means: Are you not currently overwhelmed by paroxysms of desire for this broken body of mine?" Ruth was worried that he might be making fun of her. Harry's strange sense of humour still left her befuddled until she managed to get beneath the teasing to the real intent of his words.

"I always want you, Harry. I have always wanted you. Today is no different from yesterday, or the day before that, or this time last year, or this time two years ago."

"So why did you turn down my offer of marriage?" Ruth thought she had probably asked for that. He had spoken the words very carefully and quietly, but the resonance of his voice still sent shivers through her. "If you'd been able to run from me that day, you would have."

"I – it's hard for me to explain. I think that it was because you were so blunt about it. You gave me no warning of what you were about to say."

"I wasn't aware a marriage proposal required a warning."

"You could have kissed me, or told me how you felt about me …... set the mood. That proposal came out of nowhere, and I just wasn't …... prepared for it... Harry, it was a _funeral_!"

"So that led you to saying no."

"Yes. It wasn't because I didn't love you."

"Ruth, look at me." Harry's fingers were on her cheek, turning her face towards his. "How I felt about you then is how I feel about you now. And this -" he put his lips against hers, softly and tenderly kissing her, "is the way I should have kissed you that day. I wish I had."

"And?"

"And I was an idiot for not telling you how I felt about you, but I thought you already knew." He looked at her with his eyes embracing her, his pupils dilated. "Are you ready to take this another step further, because if you're not, I can wait. I've waited years for you. I love you, I long for you. I thought you could always read that in my face."

As an answer, Ruth grasped his face in both her hands and kissed him, her lips already parting. They both lay back on the pillows, their lips and tongues exploring the other. Ruth felt years of fear and misgiving about her attractiveness – or otherwise - drop away as her body responded under his lips, tongue and fingers.

They began by running their hands over the other. Their touch was light, the tips of fingers touching shoulders, chests, breasts, stomachs, thighs, approaching more sensitive areas, then pulling back. Harry took one of her hands in both his, and he kissed each of her fingers with a feather-light touch, his eyes holding hers. Ruth held his eyes with her own, thankful – even joyous – that this beautiful man still loved her, despite her having held him at arm's length for so long.

He then undid the buttons of her shirt, while at the same time she unbuckled his belt, released his trouser buttons, slid down the zip, and began to peel his pants from his body.

"Steady, Ruth," he said quietly, his mouth close to her ear, "we have all night. There are no prizes for finishing first."

So, as slowly as they could, they undressed, until they each lay naked on top of the new blue-grey duvet. Each gazed at the other in wonder and admiration. Ruth ran a finger along Harry's body, from his waist, over his hip, and then down his outer thigh, feeling his skin shiver under her touch. She drew her finger back only when she felt his fingertips on her stabbing scar.

"Your scar, Ruth, it's hardly visible. How can that be?"

"We were told that the Genesis 1197 raised the metabolism to such a degree that healing was hastened."

"Now, _that _sounds like a better use of that drug."

"I thought so too," she answered, her insides melting at the touch of his fingers on her abdomen.

"Let's get underneath the duvet," he said, "so we can cuddle."

He put his arms around her, and she linked her arms around his waist, and under the new duvet they cuddled. It felt wonderful, it felt warm, and it felt safe. Bare skin against bare skin, they lay together. Harry had been playing with one of her nipples, his fingertips circling, then sliding over the tip. He then pulled back to give himself room, and reached down so that he took her other nipple in his mouth. He drew it between his teeth, then circled it with his tongue. Fighting the inevitable response of her body, Ruth pulled away slightly, so that her nipple sprang from his lips. He looked up at her, surprise on his face.

"I really need to do something," she said, "before we get too far into this." She looked at Harry a little nervously. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

He nodded. "Of course I do," he replied, his voice thick and deep with arousal. "I'm lying naked under a duvet with you. I should bloody hope that sufficiently demonstrates how much I trust you. What do you have in mind?"

"I want to look at you."

He looked hard at her, and then feeling her fingers touch him, and softly groaning his response, he put two and two together. "You mean you want to inspect my penis. Feel free, Ruth, but just go easy. That's quite sensitive equipment, and it's more sensitive in your hands than any others."

She smiled coyly up at him, then pulled back the duvet so that the bedside lamp cast a dim light on the object of her study. She then began a closer inspection, running her fingers gently over the surface of his shaft, and then down over his balls, which she cupped in her hand before moving back up to his penis. He watched, his breathing heavy, as she pulled the foreskin back, and then forward. He had a moment of real concern when she bent her head and ran her tongue lightly over the tip. Harry gasped, and then grasped her shoulders and lifted her away.

"Your tongue is exquisite, Ruth, but you don't know how that affects me. It excites me a little too much, too soon."

She turned to look at him, her eyes shining. "It's beautiful," she said, her voice conveying wonder, appreciation and even love. "It's without doubt the most perfect penis I've ever seen."

Harry drew her up to lie next to him, holding inside himself how moved he is by her actions. He knows that what she has just done has meant her having to put aside all her fears and embarrassment related to sex, and that for her this has required a quantum leap in faith and trust – in herself, as well as in him. He has never loved her more than he does at this moment. "And how many penises have you inspected in that way?" he teased.

"I've never felt safe enough to do that with anyone else, Harry. The truth is, I've never even wanted to do that with anyone else. Thank you for letting me."

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her deeply. They sank into one another, a tangle of arms, legs, feet and writhing torsos. Harry's mouth moved from her mouth to her eyes, her ear, her neck and then to her breasts. His lips and tongue aroused her senses like no other man had ever done. His fingertips caressed her skin lovingly, sending spasms through her whole body. After a while, she felt his fingers graze across her abdomen, and then lower, until they were inside her, massaging her sweet spot. Her nipples were erect, grazing against his chest, and against her inner thigh she felt his erection, sliding back and forth against her skin. She had no resistance left. She succumbed to her orgasm with an abandon of which she had not known herself capable.

When she at last landed back on earth, she felt Harry watching her. He was running his fingers through her hair, and watching her with a slight smile on his lips. When she was able to bring her eyes back into focus, he leant down and kissed her, long and deeply. When he pulled away from the kiss he lifted himself above her, placing his weight on his elbows either side of her, while his lower body rested between her thighs. She felt the tip of his erection at her entrance, so she lifted her buttocks to meet him. He pulled back and waited until she spoke.

"Harry, you tease. Come _on_," she said.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice hoarse, his pupils fully dilated.

"I think I now know what is meant by `gagging for it', and I am."

She again felt him at her entrance, and this time he slid inside her, slowly, gradually, fitting her perfectly. Where had this man learned this degree of self-control? Ruth realised that her own control of self was almost non-existent compared with his. He made love to her gently and slowly, almost as though she were too delicate for him to fully let go and thrust into as other men had. Harry was almost incapable of speech, his breathing heavy and in time with his strokes, but when he looked into her eyes, the love he conveyed was almost too much for her – but not quite. She felt her insides contract as another orgasm built inside her.

"Let go, Ruth," he breathed, his lips next to her ear.

And she did. Her release was wild and without any thought for how she may appear to her partner. She bucked against him, and he – to his credit, skill and eminent self-control – stayed with her, his mouth next to her ear, his words soothing and loving. How had she deserved this kind of loving? Her inside walls were still in contraction when she felt him come inside her, his release complete, a series of groans escaping his lips, ending with an "Ohhh, _Ruth_!" as he thrust as deeply as he could.

They lay together. He was still inside her, and his body had fallen on top of her after he came. He was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. So long as he didn't fall asleep, she could handle his weight on her. Eventually he became aware of the situation they were both in.

"God, Ruth," he said, "sorry. I lost track of …... everything." He lifted himself slowly, his body disengaging from hers. She contracted her pelvis around him as he withdrew completely. "Why didn't you tell me?" he added.

"What? That you were lying on top of me?"

By this time he had sunk on to the bed beside her with a deep sigh. "No, darling. Why hadn't you told me you were so good in bed?"

"But Harry, I've never been good in bed. Apart from with George, but that was only when I fantasised about George being you."

Harry chuckled quietly, grasping her hand and lifting it to his lips. "I hope you can see the common factor here, Ruth."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let me spell it out for you. You have been good – no, _amazing_ – in bed with two men only. Am I right?"

She nodded, not sure where he was heading with this.

"One man is me, and the other was someone you could only be amazing with when you imagined him to be me. I hate to state the obvious, but perhaps the man you need to make love to in order to be fantastic in bed is – "

"You, Harry."

"Yes, me. Which then begs the question – why have we taken all this time to get to this ... this place in our relationship? We could have been doing this years ago."

Ruth knew he was right. She had no answer for him. She knew she'd been the one to hold back, to be fearful about being with him, to run away from him on so many occasions. She could feel her familiar companion – guilt – rise up from where she kept it bottled away, deep inside her.

"Ruth," Harry coaxed, "say something." He turned to look at her, and saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Hey, hey," he said. "What's this?" He brushed his fingers across her cheeks to remove the tears, but that only left room for more to take their place. With that, he turned to face her, folding her in his arms. He crooned her name softly, while she let the tears spill from her. "What's this about? I was hoping you'd be happy, darling, not like this." he said at last, his voice gentle.

"I am happy - mostly. You were …... wonderful. You'll only think I'm being ridiculous."

"So try me," he replied.

"I'd had no idea I was any good in bed. I've always believed what the men I'd slept with had told me. One even said I was frigid. Now I know that's not true, and I wish I'd given us a chance all those years ago. We may even have been able to have children together. It was me who kept us apart."

"Ruth, you can't possibly carry all the guilt for us not having made it until now. It was the job we did as much as it was anything else. The job took so much of our time and energy, and I was reluctant at first to strike up a personal relationship with you, a junior officer. I wanted to – God, how I wanted to - but I had to be careful how I went about it." He leaned across to her and kissed her lightly. "Now, you must know that any man who accuses a woman of being frigid is most likely a dud in the bedroom. You, my darling, are the antithesis of frigid. You are _hot_... and let me tell you, Ruth, that this is the first time I've used that particular adjective in that context. A part of me wishes I was forty again, so that I could keep up with you, but you'll have to have me as I am. I also have this gnawing fear that you'll find some young stud who can get it up five times a night, and then you'll no longer be interested in me."

"Oh Harry, that's just not going to happen. It's you I love, and that won't change. I don't care that you can't perform all night. I enjoy my sleep as much as the next person, so long as it's you I'm sleeping with."

Eventually they talked themselves out, and just as they were settling to sleep, Harry's phone rang. He let it ring out, and then only a few minutes later it rang again. He got out of bed, cursing quietly, and found his phone in the pocket of his trousers. Ruth indulged herself in the uninterrupted view of Harry's naked back and buttocks. She had to hold herself back from leaping out of bed and running her hands down that back and to his firm cheeks. As he began to speak into his phone, she had to suppress thoughts of how he'd had to use the muscles in those buttocks to push himself into her. _How I love that man,_ she thought, _and I can't wait to feel him inside me again._

"Yes," he said, sounding more angry than he probably was. "Oh, hello Malcolm …... Yes ... No, you didn't interrupt anything. We were about to go to sleep ... Fine …... We'll be here... Yes …. You too …... I look forward to it. Goodbye." He turned off his phone before getting back into bed. He slid his arms around Ruth from behind her until his face was resting in her hair.

"That was Malcolm," Ruth said.

"Yes, he and Felicity are paying us a visit tomorrow."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Thank you to all who have taken the time to review – each one is appreciated.**_

_**Again, there are some dodgy medical details in this chapter. I tried to make them as authentic as possible, but a leap of acceptance and understanding may be required. Also I know less than nothing about International Law, so I just made it up!**_

**oOo**

Harry had only just woken and taken into account the presence of a warm body lying in bed next to him, and the identity of this person, when she spoke.

"Are you missing it?"

"Am I missing what? And good morning to you too," he added, reaching beneath the duvet to find her face so that he could cover it with kisses. The kissing turned into a major snogging session, so her answer had to wait. They eventually came up for air, laughing at the breathlessness of the other. Harry could not remember the last time he had had fun without the assistance of intoxicating substances. He had missed having fun. His whole being relaxed when he was totally happy, as he was at this moment.

"Good morning, Harry. What I was asking you was are you missing being at work? I thought you might be missing being at the centre of all that action, saving lives and performing random acts of heroism."

"Only marginally. There's only so much heroism a man can perform in one lifetime. There's also the addiction of the adrenalin rush, but I don't miss that. And if I do, there are compensations to be had." He smiled at her, an intimate, knowing smile. "Last night, when we made love, do you realise it was only just after 9.30? Normally I'd still be at work. What do you think I'd rather be doing?"

"I'd like to think you'd say that you'd rather be making love to me."

"And you'd be right. Ever since I gave away Albany, I've been seeing more and more how it is it needs a younger kind of spy to keep up with the the world we live in. The timing is perfect for me to be putting it behind me."

"But what if you begin to miss it, Harry?"

"Then I'll take up gardening. Or kick-boxing."

"I can't see you doing either."

"There are sides to me that are yet to be revealed, Ruth."

"I'm seeing new sides to you all the time. For instance, I hadn't imagined you to be such a considerate and tender lover."

Harry bent down to kiss her, slowly and thoroughly.

"I think I'm more suited to being a lover than a fighter," he said, lifting his mouth from hers.

"Being a lover suits you, Harry."

"I hope it does for many years to come, too."

What began as snogging then quickly became a whole lot more, with lips and tongues and exploring hands on naked skin.

"If we're to continue where this is headed," Harry said breathlessly, "it had better be a quick one. Malcolm and Felicity are due in less than an hour, and we haven't had breakfast."

"I'm having you for breakfast," Ruth replied, slipping her head under the duvet to take his penis in her mouth, rapidly bringing it back to life by flicking her tongue up and down its length.

Harry held in a deep moan of sheer enjoyment before he drew her up so that her face was level with his, but more so that he could enter her as they lay side-by-side, facing one another. "I told you this has to be quick."

She replied by slinging her leg over his hips and around his waist to give him better access. This time their love-making was faster and more urgent, but no less satisfying. They both came quickly, Ruth calling out Harry's name with the abandon she'd not been free to express when she'd been in Cyprus, while Harry gasped his release soon after. He put both his arms around her and pulled her against his chest until their breathing settled.

They showered together, `to save time' was Harry's excuse when he joined her in the shower cubicle in the en suite. Ruth knew that he had a need to be near her – to see her, to touch her - which her long absences from his life had created, and which may take time before he could live with her without acting it out. He still had to accept that she was there, and she was his, and that she had no plans to be anywhere else. They soaped each other all over before standing close together under the stream of water, sharing quick glances with the other. Before he turned off the shower, Harry leaned down and kissed her, his soft lips caressing her own. Ruth had not known it was possible for her to feel this valued, this cherished. It made her feel special to be loved in the way Harry loved her.

Breakfast was a pot of tea and a few slices of toast, which they ate at the kitchen table. Normally, they'd linger over the tea, talking about their plans for the day, or the next few days. The doorbell rang before they'd even finished their first cup of tea.

.

Harry answered the door, and as he walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, he was followed by Felicity Sharma and Malcolm Wynn-Jones. Malcolm was dressed in sensible grey – trousers, shirt and jumper - while Felicity had replaced her standard cape with an oversized jumper - dark orange polo neck - which fell to her knees over skinny black jeans and black ankle boots. Ruth stepped out of the kitchen to greet them, a tea towel in her hands.

When he saw Ruth, Malcolm stopped, his mouth open, his eyes shining. He then smiled at her widely. "Ruth," he said warmly, "how lovely to see you looking so well."

Ruth realised how hard it must be for her friends to greet her normally after all that had happened. It was unlikely that Malcolm would say something like: _I can't believe that_ _I read a poem at your funeral, now here you are!_ She put the towel on the dining table and held her hands out to him, grasping his hands in each of hers. "I'm so happy to see you, Malcolm. I hope this is all not too much of a shock. I heard about your mother. How is she?"

"Yes, it was a shock when I first heard about it, but it's a very happy one, Ruth. And Mother is well and happily settled, thank you for remembering her."

Ruth would like to have hugged Malcolm, but she knew that such a display of emotion would very likely embarrass him. He was one of the most decent, kind and honest men she knew. Along with Harry, she would be prepared to entrust her life with him. Years ago, when she and Harry had been skirting around one another, before they ever went out to dinner together, she'd been aware that Malcolm had been attracted to her. She'd thought it to be one of those loving-at-a-distance kinds of things, perhaps triggered by their need to work in tandem. Then after she and Harry had gone out to dinner, it had been Malcolm who had approached her to let her know how happy he was for them to have found one another. It had taken her some time to understand that Malcolm's love for her – if indeed love was the correct word – was only ever paternal and protective, and had never been self-serving or sexual. He had always wanted what was best for her. In a way, while they'd both worked at Section D Malcolm had been her father-substitute.

"Tea or coffee?" Harry said, stepping behind Ruth to enter the kitchen, his hands resting briefly on her shoulders, his need to make physical contact with her noted by Malcolm as well as her.

.

The four of them sat over a pot of tea at the dining table. Ruth felt comfortable with these three people, who were fast becoming her family.

"This was faxed through to Erin from the Home Office," began Felicity, handing across a manilla folder to Ruth. "It's the results of your blood tests, Ruth."

"Should I look at them now?" asked Ruth, opening the folder and quickly scanning the top sheet, itself a summary of the results.

"Only if you want to. Malcolm and I have already been informed about the patterns of the bloods which were taken from all who were part of the project. It's common knowledge."

"And?" Ruth replied, looking across the table at Felicity.

"The most noticeable anomaly, found only in the women, is the low iron count. Have you been feeling tired and washed out? Exhausted?"

"Yes, I have." Ruth glanced at Harry sitting next to her.

"I've spoken to my younger brother, Jeremy. He's a medical doctor and researcher. He's been interested in this project ever since I first told him of my involvement. He's discovered that Genesis 1197, when used in the doses it was on you and the others, Ruth, and as effective as it is in some ways, also reduces the levels of haemoglobin in the red blood cells, so that over time, iron deficiency, and eventually anaemia, can result. Your iron levels are quite low, and this is why you've been feeling so tired."

"Is there something I can do to reverse this?"

"A slight dietary change won't do any harm, but the quickest way is with iron tablets. There's a page in that report listing all the iron rich foods. Red meat is a good start, so I hope you like eating beef."

"I'll have to introduce you to my beef hot pots, Ruth," Harry said, smiling at her. "They're famous throughout the land."

Ruth nodded, relieved that a solution to her fatigue is likely to be so easy to achieve. She looked across at Harry and he smiled at her, giving her a slight, but encouraging nod.

"You may both be interested to know, also," Felicity continued, "that the research doctors' notes have been fully decoded, and there have been some interesting outcomes."

"Apparently, Ruth," Malcolm continued, in tandem with Felicity's statements, "you were due to be let go from the medical facility only ten weeks after you were rescued. The minimum stay in close proximity to medical care was to be six months. They planned to keep no-one there longer than eight months."

"The minimum time of six months," continued Felicity, "is just to give patients time for their body's metabolism to adjust after the treatments. The other drug – the hypnosis drug – is then tapered off, assuming that all of you would have simply slotted into lives outside the facility, but not gone looking for your loved ones. Their intention was to keep tabs on you without having you in-house. After the results were written up, I doubt they would have cared what you did, or where you went. Essentially, you were all the means to an end. My research has also uncovered other similar projects in other parts of the world. The common factor is the team of investors." Felicity looked at Malcolm, who passed a sheet of A4 paper across the table to Ruth.

"Mahmood Malik? Isn't he -?"

"The Pakistani Foreign Minister," breathed Harry, looking over Ruth's shoulder at the page in front of her. "Edward Jawahiri? He's the Iraqi advisor to the British presence in the Middle East. He was educated at Oxford."

Ruth ran her finger down the list of names, expressing incredulity each time she recognised the name of someone of influence.

"What will happen to these …. investors?" asked Ruth.

"Probably nothing," replied Malcolm. "Until we learn otherwise, they can easily plead ignorance. They can claim they were investing in the company, and that they had no knowledge of what the company was doing."

Felicity continued. "My brother-in-law, Rohan, tells me that the law is a little vague around this sort of thing. There is nothing to stop these people from investing their money as they wish, and they are not held accountable for how that money is used by the companies they invest in. Besides, what is acceptable in one country is not in another, so the laws of each country come into play, until it all becomes very murky indeed."

"But the research has been successfully halted in Britain?" Ruth asked.

"For now, yes."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry, belligerence just beneath the surface of his words.

"It means," began Felicity, "that there are still plans to develop Genesis 1197, but this time as a drug to facilitate the healing of wounds, mainly after major operations. My brother, Jeremy, works for Delphyne Pharmaceuticals - and they have the task of developing and patenting the drug – under a new name, I believe – for use in hospitals. It will still be a money-spinner. Jeremy says that in the right doses, it can reduce the time a patient takes to heal after major trauma by around sixty to seventy percent."

"So long as they don't call it the God drug, I can't complain," Ruth said. "My scar from when I was stabbed almost four months ago is already just a faint jagged line on my skin. Isn't it, Harry?"

"Yes," he replied. "If you didn't know where to look for her scar, it's barely noticeable."

"More tea?" Ruth asked, sensing a slight discomfort in Malcolm at the mention of an area of her skin which was normally hidden under layers of clothing. Were Ruth to let slip in front of Malcolm that less than an hour before he and Felicity had arrived she and Harry had been having sex upstairs, she's sure he'd turn the colour of beetroot, or perhaps even pass out. He must have known that she and Harry had reached this stage in their relationship, but he didn't need to hear about it, much less visualise it. Felicity, on the other hand, would no doubt express approval in some way unique to her. Ruth imagined that the word, _`Hurrah'_ may pass from her lips during such approval.

"Thank you," replied Felicity, "I'd like another."

They settled into general conversation, mostly about The Grid, and the other operatives, as Ruth went through to the kitchen to make a fresh pot.

"I think I've managed to win over Calum," Felicity said. "All he needed was for me to ask for his help occasionally. I think he'd been feeling displaced."

"You make it sound like he's shallow," said Harry.

"If the shoe fits," Felicity replied.

When Ruth had brought a fresh pot of tea to the table, Malcolm coughed, as though preparing to make an announcement. "Ruth and Harry," he began, "those of us still working in Section D are issuing you both an invitation." Malcolm passed a large envelope across the table and left it in front of Harry and Ruth.

"Should we open it now?" Harry asked.

"I believe that would be best," Malcolm replied.

Ruth picked up the envelope and pulled out a large piece of red card. She turned it over to find both sides blank.

"That was Calum's idea," explained Malcolm. "He wrote the invitation in invisible ink, then refused to tell us how to expose the message." Malcolm smiled apologetically.

"I'm glad to hear his time and skills are being well used," replied Harry. "Have you any idea what he wrote?"

"None at all," replied Malcolm, "although I know what he was _meant_ to have written. It's an invitation to your farewell from MI5, Harry. This Friday night at my house. 8 o'clock."

"You'll come, then?" asked Felicity, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"That's only two days away," Ruth commented.

"Don't tell me you have nothing to wear," said Harry. "You bought up half of Picton Street in Bristol a couple of days ago."

"Only half?" said Felicity. "You disappoint me, Ruth. It's smart casual dress, by the way. We didn't have time to agree on a fancy dress theme. Calum and Erin wanted a pirate theme," to which Felicity rolled her eyes, "while Malcolm couldn't get past Regency. When Dimitri suggested we all dress up like spies, I made an executive decision and called off the whole idea of dressing up."

"Do we bring anything?" Ruth asked, suddenly embarrassed for she and Harry to be at the centre of so much attention and pre-planning.

"Just yourselves," Malcolm replied. "This is the first time since I was very young that I've had a party in my house. I'm looking forward to it."

"And we are, too," Harry replied. "We're planning to visit a cottage in Kent tomorrow. It may eventually become our permanent residence."

"If you do end up buying it, promise me you'll have a house-warming," Felicity said.

"We haven't even seen it yet," Harry said, "but I imagine that a house warming is a necessary ritual …... wouldn't you agree, darling?"

"Definitely," Ruth said. "And we'll have to invite all our friends, of course."

"All five of them," Harry added, tucking his arm around Ruth's shoulder, chuckling at his own joke, realising the truth in his words. Their line of work had only allowed the fostering of relationships with their own kind, and the creating of romantic liaisons was not only difficult, but also frowned upon. He and Ruth were two of the luckier ones. They had found one another at a time when they were each ready and willing to leave the dangerous and unpredictable environment of the security services, and devote their energies to one another.

They had each denied themselves a life with the other for long enough. The farewell party would place the full stop firmly at the end of their security services sentence.


	12. Chapter 12

The drive south, then south-east from London was peaceful and uneventful. They were in no hurry, with the whole day to spend as they wished. Harry enjoyed the luxury of having so much time to do as he wished, and with the woman he loved by his side, but he was not so naïve as to imagine he would always feel this way. In a way, Ruth was right. There were things he missed about being away from MI5. He didn't miss being stabbed or shot at, and he didn't miss the betrayals, nor did he miss losing Ruth, as he had twice already. If he was being honest, he missed being at the centre of a large organisation where he felt he could make a significant contribution, and where his word was respected and mostly valued. He confessed such feelings to Ruth. Gazing out the passenger side window, she took her time to answer him.

"I'd be surprised if you didn't feel this way, Harry," she said after some time. "To head up the counter-terrorism unit was your goal for so much of your adult life, so it will take some time for you to let go of that, but that's not the only way open to you should you still wish to make an impact. Not every significant personal contribution is surrounded by glory."

Harry listened to her without interruption, valuing her opinion and her input.

"There are other ways of making a difference," Ruth continued. "You've admitted you were a flawed husband and father. I'm sorry I can't provide you with the opportunity to improve your track record as a father, but I can vouch so far for your ability as a partner to me. We may not be married, but I feel valued, loved and cherished by you. That's a gift not many men possess. Don't underestimate the importance of your personal relationships and how it is you conduct them."

"Thank you, Ruth. I feel better already." He negotiated the merging of the M25 with the M20 before he looked across at her, his heartbeat increasing slightly as he took in her full lips, her soft cheeks, and her rich brown hair, now below her shoulders. "Do you want to get married, Ruth?"

She turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Sir Harry," she said, "was that a proposal of marriage?"

"Not exactly," he replied, his eyes and his concentration now fully on the road ahead. "I suppose I was testing the waters."

"And how did the waters seem to you?"

"Warm. I think the waters seemed warm, whereas last time I asked you, the water was cold, almost icy."

"I can't complain about your persistence, Harry. Most men don't come back to ask a second time after they've been turned down."

"I'm not most men, Ruth."

"I know that, Harry. That's one of the reasons I love you. I _will_ marry you, but not right now, and not even in the near future. If I'm being honest, I don't think we need to be formally married. I already feel married to you. I'm committed to being with you, as you are to me, and isn't that what marriage is all about?"

"I agree with everything you say, Ruth. I just thought women liked the wedding part, with the dress and the flowers and the rings and such. I didn't want to deny you that."

"That might be nice, but I won't miss it if I don't have it. It's just that I don't think you and I need it. Anyway, isn't it usually the woman begging for the ceremony, and the man making excuses to avoid it at all costs?"

"As I said, I'm not most men. I want the world to know that we are committed to one another. I'm proud of you, and I want everyone to know that."

When she didn't answer, he looked across to her to see that she'd fallen asleep, her head resting against the window beside her. _I must be losing my touch_, he thought.

.

As he turned off the road to follow the sign which said: _Lower Beecham 5__½_, Harry spoke gently to Ruth.

"We're almost there, sweetheart. Wake up," he added, putting his hand on her knee and giving it a shake. Ruth stirred slowly, pulling her elbows back to stretch her torso.

"Why did you let me sleep so long?" she said, yawning.

"You needed to sleep, so I let you be. We're nearly there. Lower Beecham is only a few miles away."

Harry had slowed down, and was negotiating a quite narrow road which led off the `beaten track' to the hamlet of Lower Beecham.

"I can see now why it is the service had purchased this place. It's a bit out-of-the-way. Perfect for a safe house."

"Mmm," replied Ruth, "I hope it's perfect as _our_ safe house."

.

Following the instructions given by his Sat Nav, Harry eventually pulled the Range Rover into a driveway which followed the line of trees from the road to the cottage itself. It was set back about 100 yards from the lane, low shrubs and a few trees blocking the view of the house from the lane. As Harry turned to drive in front of the cottage, it came fully into view.

"It's beautiful, Harry," Ruth exclaimed, grasping Harry's elbow. He turned off the ignition so that they could absorb the details – a steeply pitched grey slate roof, with a gable at the far end, brickwork walls to just above the windows, and above that, off-white woodwork to meet the roof, the Tudor influence evident. It was quite small, but gave the impression of being a good-sized Kent cottage.

"The roof still needs work, Towers said, but the outside is mostly in quite good condition. It's inside where most of the money is being spent. Squatters had taken up residence, so it needed a lot of work inside."

"Won't there be tradesmen inside?" Ruth asked.

"They've been called out on an emergency on a cottage in Faversham, so when that's done, they'll come back here and finish the job." He looked across at her. "Are you ready to look inside?"

She nodded, smiling at him.

.

The open front door led on to a slate floor in the entry hall, across which was revealed a large, open-plan area, with the living room in the foreground giving way to a meals area, then a kitchen at the back.

"Plenty of room for a house-warming," Ruth murmured to herself.

Carpenters' easels, ground sheets, and a fine layer of sawdust over everything bore testament to a job still not finished. A large window in the kitchen let in the light, as well as giving an uninterrupted view of the back garden, green, but overgrown.

"If you want to work off your frustrations, Harry, the garden would be a good place to start."

"I can think of much better ways of working off my frustration," he said, his mouth close to her ear. Ruth smiled to herself, then turned towards him to catch his lips with her own. "Mrs Pearce," he said into her mouth, "you tempt me."

"Presumptuous, as usual, Harry", she said, pulling away from him, and moving slowly across the living area, imagining them living there.

He watched her walk away from him, her slim body enveloped in a long skirt, a body-hugging jumper, and a jacket, equally as fitting. Even though he could see little of her skin, he felt the familiar physical stirrings, and wondered at the appropriateness – or otherwise - of making love in a house which was still owned by his former employers. He looked around the living area space, and could see nothing suitable for lying on. He couldn't remember experiencing this degree of sexual focus – obsession, even – since the first of his affairs after he and Jane had married. Being with Ruth had opened a door inside him which had been closed for a long time. During the years he and Ruth had worked together for MI5, this drive to possess her totally had been knocking on his inner doors, waiting for her to meet him at least half way. There were times when he believed they would never get together, and that a close and exclusive friendship would be the best he could hope for. He still found it difficult to keep up with the changes in his life during the past few weeks. Having gone from grieving almost-lover to lover over a matter of weeks, he considered himself to be the luckiest man on earth.

Having already inspected the kitchen, Ruth then opened the door to a small room which opened off the living room.

"This can be my office, Harry. It's perfect. It even has a view towards the sea." Interpreting Harry's silence, she added an explanation. "William rang this morning while you were in the shower. He suggested I do some interpreting work from home. It will be nowhere near full-time, so I'll still have plenty of time for you."

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier, Ruth?"

"I had to see the cottage first. I had to determine if I could see myself living here."

"And?"

"I can, Harry. What about you? Can you see us living here?"

He looked across at her and nodded. She had never looked more beautiful, her enthusiasm and happiness making her skin glow.

.

They climbed the stairs to the bedrooms. There were three bedrooms and a bathroom. The largest room was under the gable, and had a view of the front yard and the lane. Next to it was a much smaller room.

"This must be the nursery," Ruth said quietly. Harry took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

At the back of the house, with windows overlooking the back garden and the sea, was another large room. Another door opened from this room to a small alcove.

"I made an executive decision, Ruth," he said, "and decided this should be our room. Look at the view to the sea. The small room is to be our en suite bathroom."

Ruth looked into the space which was to be their en suite. "You knew all along we'd live here, didn't you?"

"I took an educated guess. The day I resigned, Towers showed me photographs of this place, and I knew you'd love it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought I'd surprise you. What do you think?"

"You know how much I don't like surprises, Harry, but this one is the exception to the rule. It's been waiting here all this time for us to find it."

Harry, still holding Ruth's hand, led her to the window with a view of the sea. He unlocked and then opened French windows which led on to a small balcony. "Look down there," he said, pointing to the garden immediately beneath the balcony.

"I can't see anything but overgrown lawn," she replied.

"That's where I'm planning to build a deck. We can sit out there on summer mornings and have breakfast."

"Or a glass of wine after dinner."

"That too," he replied.

"Harry -"

"Mmm?"

"Have you ever built a deck?"

"How hard can it be? You must be able to buy them in kit form, surely, and then it's just like building something out of Lego."

"What if doing it is much more complicated than that?" Ruth suggested.

"If I don't do it, or if I mess it up, promise me you'll convince me to get a man in."

"A man?"

"Or a woman, so long as they know how to build a deck."

They stepped back into the room which was to be their bedroom, and they assessed the space.

"There's room enough for a very big bed, Harry."

"Do you want us to buy a bed like the one we have in London?"

"Yes, please." Ruth looked across at him, and recognised the look in his eyes as he gazed at her. There was love in his eyes, and along with it there was also lust, and longing. Harry had been looking at her with longing for around six years. She suddenly wanted to make it up to him, and she wanted to begin right then, in the cottage they were planning to buy.

"Harry," she said, but it was as though he had read her thoughts. He closed the gap between them, taking her hand in his. His other hand brushed her cheek, then settled on her neck, his thumb circling her skin. She stepped close to him, so that their bodies touched in all the usual places – her breasts against his chest, his groin nestled against her stomach, their thighs touching. "Harry," she said again, but her words were swallowed by his mouth on hers, his tongue searching for entrance – which she allowed – the hand which massaged her neck searching for a way under her jumper. "Harry," she began, pulling her mouth free from his, "what are we going to do?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," he growled, his voice gravelly and deep.

Gradually, almost without her noticing, he pushed her back against the wall, the very same wall against which their future bed head would rest. She felt the wall hard and cold against her back. She felt Harry's hot mouth devouring her neck. She felt his warm hands under her jumper, running over her skin, setting little fires wherever they went. She felt him free her breasts from her bra, so that his fingers could tease her nipples. She felt desire fill her abdomen, warming her between her legs. She felt his growing arousal against her. She felt him thrust against her body with his arousal, not once, or even twice, but several times.

She unbuckled his belt, tore open his trousers, opened the zip, and pushed them and his underpants off his hips and down his legs. He then lifted her skirt so that it bunched around her waist. He lifted her slightly so that his penis, free from the constraints of his trousers, slipped between her legs and against the fabric of her pants. She moaned as she felt him rub against her. She lifted one of her legs to his waist, and so he hoisted her against him, each of her legs wrapped around him. In one deft movement, he pushed the fabric of her pants aside to give his fingers easy access. She felt him massage her warmth until she was almost there. She felt him stop his massaging, because he could read the signs of her approaching orgasm. Then she felt him remove his fingers from her to allow his penis to move across her entrance, but not inside her. Hot bursts of desire filled her. "Harry, _please_," she pleaded. She knew what he was doing. He was waiting for her to beg him.

"I want you inside me. _Now_," she pleaded.

Which was what he'd been waiting for. She felt him enter her, gradually, slowly at first, and then faster, deeper, and right to her very core. She briefly wondered how he could take the weight of both of them on his legs, when her own legs were like jelly, and incapable of carrying anything, even her own body.

She lost track of time, her mind having closed down while her body became lost in the sensations of their lovemaking. All she knew was that he was inside her, and his driving and thrusting was leading her to the edge of who-knows-where. When she came, she believed she was on the verge of death, so complete was her loss of conscious will. He came loudly, pumping his juices into her. His head dropped on to her shoulder as he whispered the words, "I love you, Ruth," against her ear.

"I love you too," she breathed back.

Unable to hold her weight any longer, they both slipped to the floor, where, still half-clothed, they rested against one another, each with tired arms embracing the other.

"What if the workers come back today?" Ruth said once she'd regained the power of speech.

"They get an eyeful," he growled. "I'm sure they've seen much worse."

"Like what?"

"I've no idea, Ruth. My brain has turned to mush, and I barely know my own name."

They must have slept like that, bundled awkwardly together on a ground sheet on the floor, half-clothed, in the room which was to become their bedroom. When they stirred, the light in the room had changed. They tidied themselves, stealing looks at the other, their mouths hiding smiles.

"We've christened our bedroom, Ruth," Harry commented, as he zipped his pants. "How awesome is that?"

"That's the first time I've heard you use that word," she commented.

"What – christened?"

"No, you said `awesome'. I've never heard you say it before."

"Promise me you'll chastise me severely were I ever to use it again," he said gruffly, leaning across the kiss her chastely. "I noticed a quaint little pub just before the turnoff to Lower Beecham. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she replied.

**oOo**

_**Thanks for reading. The last chapter will be posted some time on the weekend.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**This is the last chapter. It was meant to be a brief epilogue, but I got carried away, and for a while there wondered if I was ever going to get to the end.**_

_**Thanks to all who have made it to the end of reading this, and a special thanks to the reviewers. Your reviews, as always, were very welcome, and made enjoyable – and often amusing - reading.**_

**oOo**

Ruth lay back in the bath, only her head above the water, while she watched him shave in front of the mirror. She could spend all day watching him. He's a perfectionist in most things, and shaving is no exception. There is a pattern to how he shaves, and that pattern is never broken, it never changes. His movements with the shaver and the water could be set to music. Rossini's_"The Thieving Magpie"_ from around the five minute mark comes to Ruth's mind.

"What?" he asked, seeing her watching him.

"I love you," she said, smiling at his image in the mirror.

"If you're trying to get me to join you in there, then your efforts are wasted. We're expected at Malcolm's in just over an hour."

"No-one ever gets to parties on time. Besides, who will notice if we're late?" she countered.

"Malcolm will," he replied, "and then his imagination will work overtime, after which he'll be too embarrassed to look either of us in the eye. _And_ I'm meant to be the guest of honour."

She sat up in the bath so that her breasts rose above the bubbles, and covered in a soapy sheen, they presented themselves so that Harry could hardly ignore them.

"Come here," she said to his reflection in the mirror.

"Why?"

"So that I can seduce you."

"I'm not falling for that one," he said, wiping his face with a towel. "You think I can't resist you, don't you?" This was a different Harry. This was Harry-on-a-mission. The Harry she'd come to know over the past week would have walked right over to her and buried his face in her breasts, lost himself in the joys of her body, and to hell with getting to the party on time.

"OK," she said, having to slightly change her approach, "I bet you can't kiss me and then walk away."

"Alright, if you must." Harry put down the towel, and slowly approached the bath. He reached down to kiss her, and then noticed that the bubbles had settled, and he could see her whole body under the water. As his lips gently touched hers, he ran his fingers over her shoulder and down to her breast, slippery with soap, her nipple erect. With his thumb he massaged her nipple, feeling it harden even more. It was then he knew he was gone. He would not simply stand up and walk away. It wasn't that he didn't want to; it was because he couldn't. He lifted his lips from hers, and opened his eyes. She was looking at him with love and desire and something else – triumph. She knew his limitations better than he knew his own. His eyes slid over her body. He was mesmerised by her ribs and her stomach, and then he followed the curve of her abdomen to her dark pubic hair, and beneath that, he remembered the bliss he'd experienced while moving inside her. He was wearing nothing under his bathrobe, and he noticed her eyes drawn to where his growing erection had found its way through the opening in his robe. She lifted her hand to touch him, but he quickly pulled back.

"Come in here with me," she said huskily. "Let's see what develops. It might be fun." She reached up and grabbed one side of his bathrobe, and tugged it from him. It slowly slipped from his shoulders, revealing his naked body, and his half arousal. She slid her hand from his arm, across his chest, and then down over his abdomen, until her fingers lightly touched his penis.

"Get in," she said, no longer seductive, but insistent. She moved forward in the bath to make room for him to sit behind her.

She felt him step into the bath behind her, placing his legs either side of her. She ran her hands up and down his thighs, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as her fingers slipped up his inner thighs, and scratched his skin with her fingernails. She leaned her back against him, so that her body rested against the expanse of his chest, her head against his shoulder. His breathing was fast and shallow, and his penis hard against her lower back. She awaited his next move. In her mind, she had already proven a point, although now he was here in the water with her, she was not altogether sure what that point had been.

Suddenly his hands slid around her waist and glided up her abdomen to caress her breasts, while his mouth devoured her neck and shoulders, his tongue flicking and licking her skin. She could tell from his breathing that he was already more aroused than she. She knew that what she was doing was perhaps not playing fair, but this game was new to her, and for once she'd become fully aware of the power she had over him. She had never done this with any man before Harry. She was testing the parameters of this game she had devised, although she was also aware that it is as old as the human race itself.

He took his hands from her breasts, and slid them down her body to her folds, now hidden under the water. He slipped his fingers into her, as he sucked on the delicate skin of her neck.

"Harry," she said, suddenly finding speech difficult, "you'll leave a mark."

"So wear a shirt with a collar," he replied gruffly, before he again placed his mouth against her skin.

She felt her climax building, like an approaching storm, and gave in to it, arching her back against him as he plunged his fingers deeper into her, hearing some of the bathwater slosh over the sides of the bath. After she settled, and after he'd stopped whispering words of love and encouragement against her ear, she turned to face him. She straddled his body, then lowered herself on to his erection, guiding him into her, as he lay back and closed his eyes. He lifted his buttocks to make their coupling easier. From underneath her, he did all the work, tensing his buttocks to lift himself up and into her, then dropping away again. Because he is well-endowed, he did not slip out of her. They both lost themselves in their coupling. When they came, their thrashing – because that's what their moving together had become – created a wave in the bath which emptied at least half the water on to the floor. They were oblivious to the wash of water over the side of the bath, and having forgotten that Harry's bathrobe had been discarded on the floor, they gave no thought to it's probable soaking.

They rested against each other for a short while. She was the first to move, raising her head to check that his face was above the water line. His eyes were closed. "Harry!" she said, shaking his shoulders.

"What?" he replied, opening his eyes drowsily.

"I thought you might have drowned," she said weakly.

He looked up at her in surprise. "One way or another you're bound to be the death of me, Ruth," he murmured, a small contented smile on his lips.

.

They were late to the party. It was almost 9.30 when their taxi pulled up in front of Malcolm's house. Harry was dressed in black slacks, a sky-blue shirt, and a dark grey jacket, while Ruth wore black slacks, a slim-fitting black polo-necked jumper – which adequately covered the mark Harry had left on her neck - and a body-hugging red jacket. They looked like they belonged together.

The door was opened by a middle-aged woman who appeared familiar, although they could not quite place her.

"I'm Lydia," she said, her short, wavy golden-blonde hair shining under the porch light. "I'm Felicity's older sister. You must be Ruth and Harry. You perfectly fit the descriptions I was given."

Inside the house, they were greeted by a large banner which read: _Happy Retirement Harry and Ruth_. Balloons and streamers festooned the whole living area, and on the walls were large photographs of Harry and Ruth, some on their own, and others of them together.

"Do you ever feel like you've been living in a bubble, Ruth?" Harry spoke into her ear. "I feel as though none of my movements have been without a surveillance camera somewhere nearby."

It was only after they had been greeted by everyone that the penny dropped.

"Did you see that?" Ruth whispered over her shoulder to Harry, who was standing just behind her.

"If you mean did I see Malcolm take Lydia's hand and kiss it, then yes. What a dark horse."

"And there you were worried that Malcolm would be imagining what we were doing to make us late. He was most likely having his own intimate moment."

"Ruth, I don't really want to have a mental image of Malcolm having sex."

"At least Malcolm is now getting some, making him far less twitchy in my opinion," said Calum from behind Ruth's other shoulder. "And how is my favourite ex-spook?" he asked Ruth, leaning towards her. "I've missed you."

Ruth turned from Harry to give Calum a quick hug. "It's good to see you, too, Calum."

"What are the girls doing here?" asked Harry, noticing that two of the admin girls were at the party.

Calum coughed, a little embarrassed. "The blonde one came with me, and the dark one is Dimitri's date."

"But I thought he and -" began Ruth.

"We were all hoping he and Erin would become a couple, but alas, they didn't make it. I think Erin's words were: _Come back when you grow up, Dimitri, and we might try again_. I think that means that she loves him …... or something like that. What do I know about love anyway? All jokes aside," Calum continued, "you both look happy, and I'm glad you're well, Ruth."

Calum then wandered away to get a drink for himself and his date for the night.

"I guess we should mingle," said Ruth, grasping Harry's hand and squeezing it before she crossed the room to speak to Erin.

.

Harry felt a degree of detachment as he watched Ruth greet people she'd once worked with and spent so many hours of her life with. He thought he'd miss the bustle and the camaraderie of the Grid, but he believed he had already let it go. Life in retirement, spent with the love of his life, doing what he wanted, when he wanted, was about as good as it gets.

"You miss her even when she's just the other side of the room, don't you Harry?" said Felicity

offering him a glass of Scotch.

"Thank you," he said, taking the drink from her hand, and taking a sip. "Is it that obvious?" He asked, looking across at her.

"Yes, it is, but that's a good thing. A month ago you were looking at retirement as a single man. The alternative must be -"

"It's wonderful," he said. "And I have you to thank for it."

Felicity grasped his arm and leaned against him in a companionable silence. "You and Ruth are very well suited, you know. Her gentleness to balance your bluster and brashness; her logical mind to counter your passionate nature; her youth to bring life to your -"

"Perhaps you should stop there, although you're right on the money so far. We shouldn't be well suited, but we are. We fit together well. A few months ago I was dreading the future, but now I can't wait."

"How was the cottage?"

"It's perfect, or it will be when the work on it is finished."

"And you'll not forget us when it comes to your house-warming?"

"Never," he said gruffly. "You're all like family to us."

Malcolm and Lydia, hand in hand, crossed the room to join Harry and Felicity.

"Why didn't you tell us about -?" Harry began, pointing at their linked hands.

"Because I didn't want to divert the attention from you and Ruth," Malcolm explained diplomatically. "Besides, as you know, I'm a private person, and so is Lydia." The look which passed between Malcolm and Lydia showed Harry that this was not some opportunistic romp between two middle-aged people. Like he and Ruth, their relationship was still at the delicate stage, but worth the time and effort it would take to build a bond which is both strong and enduring.

"I'm happy for you both," Harry said sincerely. "You're in the wrong business, Felicity. You've been personally responsible for getting two couples together in the past months alone."

Malcolm and Lydia wandered off to check on Alec, who was – by all accounts – perched on the table in the kitchen with a large bottle of Coke in his hand. What was in the Coke bottle was of concern to Malcolm, who had wanted the night's celebrations to be enjoyable, but low-key and decorous.

Harry found his eyes searching the room for Ruth. Had he always done this? He suspected he had, and that this looking-for-Ruth was one of those unconscious acts he performed on a daily basis, like covering his mouth when he coughed, or blinking and ducking when a bird flew at the windscreen of his car while he was driving.

"Are you afraid that you love Ruth more than she loves you?" Felicity asked, her arm still tucked through his.

"You get right to it, don't you?" Harry replied, not sure whether he really wanted to pursue this line of conversation. He could feel Felicity's eyes on him, so he decided to be honest with her. "That's been my second greatest fear ever since I realised how I felt about her, and that was years ago. She'd ….. run from me … whenever we got close. I could only assume she didn't love me in the way I loved her."

"And now?"

"It's still there, the feeling that maybe I love her more. But I'm prepared to live with that. The alternative is unthinkable. I've been without her, and it was almost unbearable. My greatest fear has always been the threat of losing her again."

"You know that people express their love in different ways, don't you? You're a romantic, Harry, and you're good when it comes to grand gestures of love. I think Ruth is someone who needs to be shown that you really, really want her, so she runs away so that you can come to find her and bring her back to you. She needs you to do that. Of course, she's also quite afraid of how loving you makes her feel. She doesn't like losing control, and loving someone and being loved is all about loss of control. She'll back off occasionally, or run a bit cold just so that she can gain a sense of control."

"How do you know all this? You seem to understand Ruth better than I do."

"I watch Ruth, and I'm reminded of Anthony. There was an elusive quality to him. Whenever we were at a party, he'd run off and become the life of the party, but if I didn't seek him out, he'd begin to think I didn't love him. It used to irritate me until I figured it out. He was also a massive control freak, and in a way, Ruth is also."

Felicity looked up at Harry, but he was lost in private thoughts of Ruth's control game earlier in the evening, when she'd known him well enough to work out how to get him into the bath with her. He felt a small smile soften his face at the memory. There were times when he'd have to simply allow her to take the reins of control.

"It was some time after Anthony died that I realised that I loved him in part _because_ I couldn't pin him down. And I now know that he and I were never meant to be together for life, but you and Ruth are. Give her space, Harry. Don't crowd her, but always go looking for her when she wanders away. She'll want you to do that. I think for her it's akin to being chased, or wooed. She'll never tire of it."

Uncharacteristically for Harry, he leaned over to Felicity and kissed her cheek. "Thank you," he whispered, before he left her side in search of Ruth. Suddenly it all made sense.

Harry found her in the dining room with Dimitri and Calum, along with Hayley and Pia, their dates for the evening. He stood in the doorway for a moment and watched as she laughed at something Calum had just said. As Ruth turned to see him, he felt that familiar quickening of his pulse and the warmth radiating from his heart and his groin through his whole body.

"There you are, darling," she said, her smile widening just for him. "I've missed you." She held out her hand to him, and he grasped it in his. He noticed the endearment she'd used – darling. This was the first time she'd used it outside the bedroom. She'd not even said it in the kitchen, or the living room, or when they were alone together in the car.

Perhaps wooing Ruth would be a lifetime activity for him. If so, he was looking forward to it.

.

"Unaccustomed as I am to speech-making -," came the voice from the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

There was a collective groan from the younger ones.

"Unaccustomed as I am to speech-making," Dimitri repeated, "I consider it a privilege, on behalf of all who have worked in Section D over the years, to wish you, Harry Pearce, KBE -"

"Get on with it, man," said Alec, the coke bottle still in his hand. Ruth knew from having talked to him that the bottle contained only soft drink and nothing else. He'd been on the wagon for months.

"Whatever," Dimitri continued, "we'll all miss you, Harry, just as we've missed Ruth, and we wish you a happy and productive -"

"Not _too_ productive, mind you," added Alec, to which there was more groaning from the younger ones.

"This is from us all, and we wish you a happy and you know ….. long retirement." With that, Dimitri took from Malcolm's hand a bottle of 21 year old Glenfiddich, and a long envelope, and held it out to Harry, who walked across the room to collect it. "You have to open the envelope, Harry, because we all want to see your face when you do," added Dimitri, a wide smile softening his features.

"I hope it's not one of those exploding letter bombs," Harry quipped, as he opened the envelope. He drew out what looked like airline tickets. His face broke into an uncharacteristic broad smile as he saw what was written on the tickets. He held out his hand to Ruth. "I think you should be by my side for this, Ruth."

With encouragement from Felicity, Ruth joined Harry as the centre of attention, something which always made her feel self-conscious. Harry showed her the contents of the envelope, and her jaw dropped, and then she said, "How did you know? How could you all afford this?"

"Lydia's daughter works for British Airways," explained Malcolm, "so the tickets were at a bargain basement price, and the week in the Hotel de Neuville in Paris …... shall we say, we pulled some strings." Malcolm's eyes darted around the room, taking in everyone present. "We called in some favours. And the Home Secretary also made a significant contribution, without which you would have had to settle for a weekend in a B&B on the outskirts of Hastings."

"You can call it a honeymoon, even if you never get married," Felicity chimed in. "We just want you to enjoy it, and to remember us while you're enjoying it."

"If we _really_ enjoy it, we'll not be giving a thought to any of you," growled Harry, and Ruth lightly punched him on the arm. Harry tucked his arm around her waist, and kissed her hair. "I don't know what to say," Harry said, his arm still around Ruth. "Thank you all. Ruth and I thank you for this generous gift. We'll put it to good use, as soon as we can. We have no immediate plans for getting married, but a honeymoon, on the other hand, is something we'll enjoy at our first opportunity. I won't miss any of you, of course. I have more enjoyable pursuits now." Harry stopped speaking, seeming overcome with emotion, and Ruth put her arm behind him, and rubbed his back in slow circular movements.

"Three cheers for Harry and Ruth," Alec called out, and the others followed with three rounds of _Hip Hip, Hooray_!

.

"How did they know about Paris?" Ruth asked, seated next to Harry in the back seat of the taxi on their way home. "It can't be a coincidence. Of all the cities in the world, they -"

"I think I might have mentioned it to Felicity. After we believed you to be dead, I confided quite a lot in her. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. I was just curious." Ruth's face suddenly became serious. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you, Harry. Had I ever believed you to be dead, I wouldn't have wanted to go on. When I thought Lucas had shot you, I – I -,"

"I had my moments when I couldn't bear the thought of dragging myself through another day without you," he said. "Most of these moments were at night, when thoughts of you consumed me. During the day I buried myself in work."

There was a long silence between them, during which they each entertained thoughts of what might have been had their worst fears been realised.

"You see," Harry continued quietly, taking Ruth's hand in his, and bringing it to his lips, "this is how I'm easily able to put the job behind me. I know it's a habit which may be hard to break, but I no longer have a need to lose myself in it. I'd often use it to run away from thoughts of you, or how I felt about you, as well as all the decisions I'd made which I'd have done differently had I had my time over. I'm somewhat obsessive -"

"Only somewhat?" she said, smiling at him in the dark.

"Well, you've always been an obsession of mine, so now I can indulge myself fully."

He lay back against the seat, and she leaned her head across and rested it on his shoulder.

"Ruth." He whispered her name like a benediction. "We'll be OK, won't we?"

"I'm sure we will," she replied, squeezing his arm. "Change that to I'm _certain_ we will."

The glow from the streetlights they passed by flickered across their faces, revealing their heads close together, smiles of contentment on their faces.

**oOo**

_**That's all for this fic. **_

_**My new HR fic – called "24 Hours" - will be published soon.**_


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